Let My Lombax Go
by Jekkal
Summary: Ratchet finds himself back in time! He may be stuck on a old Rilgar plantation, but some things never change . . .
1. An Abrupt Welcome

The first thing Ratchet felt was a rough tearing at his skin as he hit the ground, knees first, before the rest of his body followed. His head ricocheted off the dirt, his chest burning in relief and his neck suddenly quite thankful, although still in great pain.

His eyes were clenched shut, expecting the worst . . . but then he opened them, blinking awake, and trying to make sense of the discontinuity surrounding him. Didn't his DeadLock collar just go off? Wasn't his head, at minimum, supposed to not be attached to his body?

For that matter, why in the seven cores of Veldin did he feel like he had rope burns?

"Get that rodent off my damned grass!" A voice barked, and suddenly Ratchet noticed four scaly hands reaching for him, jerking him to his feet just fast enough for him to notice he was on a planet of some kind — a nice, serene part of it, with a fair grove of trees in one part of his view and a meadow in the other, but the grip he was quickly wrenched into was anything but serene. "I thought I said to hang that runner high! I want his ears flapping in the breeze so hard that the airport wants 'em for wind socks!"

Ratchet coughed, trying to croak out "Airports still exist?", but finding his windpipe crushed. He felt like he should've died right then. And all things considered, maybe he had . . . his last memory _was_ of a detonating collar, after all, and Gleeman Vox had burned it well into him that you didn't survive a collar blowing up.

Ratchet's eyes went high in a hurry as he looked up, vaguely noting that the man in front of him looked an awful lot like Gleeman . . . on a superficial level, at least. The face was there, the body was right, but the look was wrong. He had a short, graying beard and loose, light-colored attire, like the stuff in those old 'pirate' films. Hell, he even had the right wig for it, too.

"Fess up while you still can! Who cut my runner down?" The apparent 'Vox' shouted, his eyes wide. "Fess up now or I'll eat the damn rodent where he stands!"

"Now come on, 'Master' Gabriel, don't be rash." Ratchet heard a voice come from behind him as a pair of the same scaly hands from before cameentirely too close to Ratchet's cheeks, before reeling back at noticing a snakehead of the same scales poking out with the hands as well. "That'd be an awful waste, and eating such trash might make you sick."

"Well then someone better show himself before I-!" The man shouted again, before noting a rather svelte figure leaping down from the trees, before adjusting her dress and petticoats. He blinked at her. "Anastasia! Don't tell me you did this . . ."

The proud lizard-girl smiled, crossing her arms. "Father."

"Not this shit again . . ." Ratchet mumbled, barely getting it out, but apparently being overheard enough that he noticed his ear receiving a bite from the snakehead he saw before. He winced at the pain, but this time was too freaked out to scream.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You want to explain why you decided to defy me?"

Anastasia smirked, patting her dress down again. "He's much more useful than he looks, Father. No need to kill a slave in order to make an expensive example."

Ratchet snarled, but kept his mouth shut this time; whoever the girl was, she 'did' just save his life. Assuming it was still his they were talking about. And besides that . . . something about the girl's speech hit him wrong. It'd been almost five centuries since the Lombax Liberation Act . . . no one in the galaxy was still supposed to keep any kind of Lombax slave . . .

. . . right?

"Well pursing him's too much trouble for a runner." Gabriel glared down at Ratchet, a look of disdain on his face. "You have a better idea, my little mako?"

"Indeed." She smiled. "I'll keep him."

"Are you insane?" The workman that was holding Ratchet back craned his head up just enough to be seen. "You want this madman for a pet? He'd just as soon kill you as ravage you!"

"He's a _runner_, for God's sake. Anything else and I might agree, but a runner's harmless. Once he's set up nice and comfortable-like away from the machinery, he won't want to run anymore, now will he?" Anastasia smirked, dropping to her haunches to look at Ratchet. "Besides, I bet once you clean the grease and the mats out of his fur, he'll be as handsome as any purebred bolts can buy."

"Fine . . . if keeping him for a new toy will stem your meddling in my affairs, so much the better." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Antonio, take Kay-Twelve here back behind the house and clean him off. All of him."

Ratchet blinked as the gravity of the situation finally was clicking, and he looked down at his feet as Antonio the scaly workman took hold with all four arms. They were calling him 'K12'. The girl's speech. Even the rope burns . . .

He didn't know how the DeadLock collar had led to this, but it didn't matter. For whatever reason, he was here, he was apparently stuck back in time, and — at least for now — he was finding out the hard way why the history books always called it the 'slave ages' . . .


	2. Made Presentable

"Get me out of this thing!" Ratchet sputtered, clawing to the edges of a shallow tub, sloshing hot water against the side of the mansion. "You're trying to cook me!"

"Shut up and take it like the whelp you are!" Antonio snarled, his snake-hairs bouncing against the back of his neck as two hands held Ratchet's shoulders down and the other two latched around the tub. "Master said he wanted you clean and Master gets what he wants!"

Ratchet struggled to keep his head above water again, noting the only pair of clothes he had on when he got here — a tattered pair of coveralls — were currently hanging off of a nearby bush. Damn it, whenever he crowed that he wanted hands pawing all over his body, this was not what he had in mind by any stretch!

Antonio tsked to himself as he scrubbed harder at Ratchet's back with a stiff brush. "I swear, Kay-Twelve, you're not acting right at all."

"Yeah? Well how should I be acting then?"

This caused the workman to pause, glancing down at the mess of soapy, soaked Lombax in the tub. "I don't know, but I do know you ain't acting right. A good slave's meant to stay put and keep to his work, and if he's lucky he doesn't get the tar beaten out of him on more than a monthly basis."

"And I want that _why_?"

This picked up a chuckle from the Kendril workman. "Well, I suppose that's why Master Gabriel wanted you lynched for being a runner in the first place . . ."

With that, Antonio went back to his work, taking a rough hold of Ratchet as he gave a quick tug, causing Ratchet to yelp and grab the lip of the tub again with both hands. "Damn it, man, go easy on those . . ."

"He did say he wanted all of you clean. Now you can either hold still for this or I can go grab the women's tools and really make this hurt." Antonio snarled, his lips pulled back to reveal small fangs. A few moments later, he smirked as he felt Ratchet relax in his hands, wincing only when the stiff brush hit him wrong. "I don't like it any more than you do, but damned if you know how to do it yourself."

Ratchet frowned, but kept his remarks to himself this time, taking the momentary violation as a chance to size up the situation. Even stuck as a slave in this time period, he still had several advantages over most of the people in this time — he knew how to read, he had a good working understanding of college-level physics and mechanics, knew how to drive — and even if a few people in this time frame probably knew how to do a bunch of those things as well, he knew them at a period in time when the average Lombax didn't. Hell, the average Lombax wasn't even considered a 'thinking' being right now.

Of course, the more he said, the more likely it was that someone might pick up that he was more capable than he ought to have been. If they thought he was too smart for his own good — and, to be honest, he probably _was _for this place — the more likely he'd end up in the hands of another sadistic mind like 'Master Gabriel' . . . or worse.

Ratchet groaned, holding his head. He was already calling Gabriel 'Master'. That couldn't have been good.

"What's wrong with your head, boy?" Antonio spoke up. "Don't tell me you're actually enjoying this."

"Think my brain's're still scrambled from the 'lynching'." Ratchet spoke up, trying to blend his speech into what seemed more appropriate for this place. "Do me a favor and remind me what I used to do before I wanted to leave?"

"Your brains can't be that scrambled . . ."

Ratchet shrugged. "Humor me."

Antonio rolled his eyes, before taking one of his arms and sweeping back one of the bushes to show a lone factory on a craggy island plateau. "You used to work there with the other floor-hands, building motor engines. If I remember right, you were in the section of that place that was working with some of the air turbines for the big jets."

A quick adjustment had Ratchet standing up in the metal tub, using his hands and tail to try and cover himself as he looked out towards the factory. "Sounds dangerous."

"No kidding — and you can't be this dumb. You have to remember seein' Jay-Fifty-Seven get himself sliced to pieces by one of the turbine fans a few days back . . ." Antonio shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's why you decided to take your chances and run for it."

Ratchet blinked, looking back out at the factory again, noting a slightly rust-colored vent and pointing at it. "That'd be where he ended up, right?"

"Well, good, you remember a little. Now sit back down, we're almost done, and I need to try and see how far I can get your hair out so you look presentable." Antonio spoke up, turning his full attention back to Ratchet.

A few minutes and a brisk toweling-off later, Ratchet found himself staring into a mirror in what was apparently the laundry room, blinking at seeing himself. He knew what he looked like, of course, but apparently there were a few differences between himself and 'K12', whoever he was . . . His fur was still golden, but he now had pale, cream-colored stripes. His hair was also slightly blonde, and reasonably long, tied back with a bold blue ribbon. He just kept looking at himself, trying to make sense of it as Antonio started trying to pass him more and more garments that would look like they'd fit.

"Briefs, britches, socks, garters, belts . . . You know, if I ever had a chance to get my hands on the guys that invented this system, I'd slap 'em. Gimme a loose pair of pants and a hat for the sun and I'd be fine." Antonio muttered as he tossed the items to Ratchet. "But I suppose if Miss Anastasia wants you that badly for a butler, you at least ought to look the part."

"Butler?" Ratchet blinked. "I thought she wanted me for-!"

"Trust me, you're a butler." Antonio remarked, picking up a jacket and holding it against Ratchet. "If it was anything else, Master Gabriel wouldn't have let her get away with this. Besides, this way she can keep easier tabs on you. Now put this on, and follow me."

Ratchet slipped on the jacket, then blinked as Antonio latched onto one of his hands, leading him through a few of the estate's corridors and up a high, twisting staircase, before stopping at a certain room, giving an experimental knock before slowly opening it. Ratchet blinked as he looked inside — there were the 'usual' toys of a dollhouse, some stuffed animals, and a flat screen against one wall, but he also noticed a packed shelf of books and what looked to be a sleek computer set up at a desk in the corner. It didn't look impressive, but it was at least nice. The main part of the room he noticed was a bed at least a meter off the ground, with the base full of shelving and cupboard spacing, along with what looked to be a laundry-space.

Antonio smirked, and swung open the vented door to the laundry-space. "You stay here. There's a good light with the switch on the outside, and enough room to set up a cot for yourself once we get around to it. Once you're in for the night, the place locks up easy. It ain't much, but it has to be a sight better than what you're used to."

"Thanks . . . I think." Ratchet gave Antonio a strange look, but soon walked inside the space, getting the sense that anything else would have caused Antonio's 'kind' streak to end abruptly. He noticed the door closing behind him, leaving Ratchet with only a few lines of light coming through the door, followed by a click as it was locked shut.

Ratchet only saw the light blocked out by Antonio's legs and tail now. "You stay here until your Mistress comes back. I'll come check on you if she doesn't arrive back before dinner."

Ratchet nodded, sitting down on the carpeting to curl up. "What am I supposed to do until then?"

"I don't know . . . thank your lucky stars you're still alive? I don't care." Antonio growled. "Look, the house ain't my territory, and all things considered . . . once you get your tail settled in here, I don't want to see it again, got it?"


	3. So Cute When He Lies

Ratchet muttered something to himself about how familiar the whole situation felt to him, as his fingers began groping through the slats on the door, hoping to slip the lock free. It was one thing to play along while there was still the all-too-real possibility of ending up lynched, but damned if he was going to stay an effective prisoner in some little girl's laundry hole without a fight.

"Come on, just a little to the . . . there!" Ratchet smirked as he pushed the pin out, and the door became loose. With a smile on his face, he swung the door open, before stepping out and adjusting his velvet-lined jacket. "Now that we've got that sorted, maybe I can actually get a look around this place."

Ratchet started to walk around the room, taking note of various objects in the room; he stopped at a mirror to adjust his jacket again, taking his time now to grin inwardly at his appearance, even if nothing else about this place got a good response out of him. But soon his attention went towards the nearby computer, and Ratchet crawled up the chair to stand up in it, looking down at the computer.

"Hey, Computer, tell me about time travel theories, will you?" Ratchet spoke up, waiting for the computer to return a response. None came, and a few seconds later, Ratchet frowned. "Come on, do I need to ask for your name first? Tell me about time travel!"

Ratchet slammed a hand down on the desk, tripping up the keyboard, which caused the screen to flicker to life and show Ratchet a desktop. "What the . . . Aw, man, you're not telling me I have to use a W.I.M.P. Interface!"

Ratchet frowned, pulling out what looked to be a stylus poking out of the desk near the screen, prodding the screen to what looked like the first useful icon, pulling up a window that he expanded out, before blinking at the screen. He tapped the first few grayed-out icons, before noticing he was looking at a screen that was mostly white except for a few images and a long field in the middle of the screen.

Ratchet looked at it once more, raising an eyebrow, but then began to tap on the field, and then the keyboard, wincing at the odd symbols on the screen. It looked familiar, but not enough . . . He couldn't read the screen at all. The symbols on the keyboard looked familiar to him, but that was it.

Ratchet sighed, glaring at the screen. He didn't get it . . . He was able to talk here just fine. How could the local language here be so different from what he knew? Then again, 500 years was plenty of time for things to have evolved into the form he currently understood — in other words, just enough to make him illiterate.

Ratchet blinked, then sat down as he realized — he needed his literacy to use most of his other skills that supposedly made him 'different' from the other slaves here. Without being able to read, let alone code write, he wouldn't be able to do much of anything here that would let him organize maps or orchestrate plans . . . hell, he wouldn't even be able to read the local news!

Ratchet sighed, burying his face in one hand. "I miss Clank . . ."

"Who's Clank?"

Ratchet spun around in his seat, looking through the chair's pegs to see Anastasia standing in the doorway, wearing a knee-length chiffon dress and leaning up against the door frame. He blinked, with all sorts of alarms going off in his head. "Nothing. I said nothing."

"You mentioned a 'Clank'. I'm not deaf, after all." Anastasia spoke, walking forward. "Speaking of stupidity . . . weren't you supposed to be locked in the laundry hold?"

"It was dark in there." Ratchet remarked, trying to make it sound as innocent as possible. "That's not the point."

"I'll be the judge of that . . ." Anastasia smirked, putting a hand on Ratchet's shoulder, before looking at the screen. "What are you trying to get on the StarNet for?"

Ratchet winced, getting the feeling he should've been more careful. "I just found it . . ."

"And not doing a good job of it." She sat down in the chair, propping Ratchet up in her lap. "What's 'Slip Halo', anyway?"

"I was that far off?" Ratchet's ears shot up. "Damn it . . ."

Anastasia looked at the screen, then down at Ratchet, and she shrugged. "That's pretty good typing. You know, for a beginner."

Ratchet looked up to her, than at the screen. "Considering I can't read any of it, I'll take that as a compliment."

"Of course you can't. I'm surprised you even got this far." She shot back at him. "You're a critter. "

"Take that back!" Ratchet shot at her, his hair on end. Nobody got away with calling him a damned 'critter', least of all some arrogant lizard like-.

She blinked at him. "What? Did I say something?"

Ratchet glared at her, then calmed down; even if it was racist of her, she didn't realize just 'how' bad it was, and all things considered, she did still save his life earlier today; maybe it was just . . . to be expected of people here. "Don't use that word around me, okay?"

"What w-? . . . Oh." Anastasia sat back, holding Ratchet up at arm's length. "I wasn't trying to be mean with it."

"Still hurt." Ratchet sighed, glancing back at the screen. "Wish I could read it, though . . ."

"It'd be useless to try." The girl shrugged, looking back at the screen. "Your brain's just not wired for that kind of higher-level thinking."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on it." Ratchet muttered to himself.

"What's that mean?"

Ratchet looked up at her. "Trust me when I say my mind's just as capable, if not more so, than your own."

Anastasia crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "Then why can't you read?"

"Why can't you write something I can read?" Ratchet raised an eyebrow of his own. "Just because I don't know what that means yet doesn't mean I'm an imbecile!"

"Fine, then." Anastasia shrugged. "Find a way to prove you're smarter than the average Lombax."

"Well for starters, I . . . ergh . . ." Ratchet started to speak, then realized he hadn't completely thought this through. What should he admit to, knowing how to snipe a man's head at fifty yards? They'd probably lynch him again. "Er, there's also . . . hm."How to build a starship from scratch? The odds we good that he'd mess up whatever time continuum let him come here in the first place if he tried it. "Surely you can understand . . . eh . . .."Anything else . . . seeing how he couldn't even figure out the computer's interface, maybe his definition of 'intelligence' wasn't about to jell here like it should.

The girl chuckled, amused. "Slug in the throat?"

"Something like that." Ratchet admitted, one hand behind him on the desk. "You have to believe me, though . . . I mean, listen to me. Surely I don't talk like any of the others in this place."

"Hmm." She picked Ratchet up, using two claws to pry his mouth open as she peered down his throat. "Well, I'll give you that, K12. I'm not sure if it makes any difference . . . but you do talk nicer."

Ratchet nodded, then yelped as he found himself being manhandled by Anastasia in the next moment, as she grabbed a length of ribbon with one hand and held his wrists behind him with the other. The reaction was instantaneous and immediate, as Anastasia quickly received a foot to the snout, allowing Ratchet to roll free, grabbing the ribbon and getting into a brief tug of war with Anastasia, which remained brief because she soon pounced him, pinning Ratchet to the floor.

"Just hold still!" Anastasia shouted up. "How else am I supposed to practice on your hair?"

"My hair's fine as-!" Ratchet shouted back, then blinked. "Hold up; why the hell would you want to mess with _my_ hair? Surely a girl from a family like this already has a servant for that, or at least doesn't need to tie people down to practice . . ."

Anastasia mewled slightly in the back of her throat, then sat down. "I don't let the other slaves near my hair anymore . . . they can't do it right. They always pull too tight and rip out these giant mats . . ."

"Mind if I try?" Ratchet held up a hand, sitting up from his position on the floor. "I think I'd rather be the hair puller than the pullee, after all."

She thought about it for a moment, then pulled up the chair from her desk for Ratchet to stand on, while Anastasia sat on the floor, her head just in reach once Ratchet climbed on the chair again. She handed the Lombax two brushes, a comb, and a pair of barrettes, before turning her back to Ratchet. "Don't try anything stupid, now . . ."

"Said like I have a whole lot of options." Ratchet remarked, picking up one of the wider brush heads as he started to work on Anastasia's hair. It reminded him of Sasha's hair somehow — mostly in the dark, coffee-bean-brown color, but it was enough resemblance to get him to calm down, to start working through the mane, and to forget, at least for a moment, that he was in the wrong time for him at all.

Ratchet continued to work, losing track of time until he noticed that he'd run out of hair to work on. He blinked, running his hand across one patch of tidy french braids, as though he didn't believe his own luck. One barrette later to keep them in place, and he was done, setting aside his tools and sitting back in the chair, before smiling just a bit as he tapped her shoulder and pointed to the mirror.

"What did you-! Oh my . . ." Anastasia's eyes went wide as she looked at her hair. "That's . . . that's perfect, actually. I've never seen myself with my hair like that. Where'd you learn to work so well?"

"I've gotten used to organizing messy wire racks." Ratchet shrugged. "As for your hair, the main issue seems to be just keeping it from tangling. If you can manage not to go a couple days without making sure it's been rinsed and combed though, you should be fine."

"Either way, I'm impressed." She smiled at him, before glancing out the window. "Goddess! It's close to dinner already. We better get down there before there's too many questions."

Ratchet nodded, then blinked. "Er . . . am I coming with you?"

"Well, if you'd hold still long enough, you'd have noticed that the ribbon has multiple uses . . ." She spoke up, holding the ribbon again. "Now, seriously, hold still."

"All right . . ." Ratchet rolled his eyes, pulling away in reflex as she lassoed him with a slipknot, until she had fashioned a strange collar and leash around Ratchet's neck, punctuated by a slightly poofy bow. "I hope you appreciate I wouldn't put up with this for just anybody."

"Come on, K12. It's bad form to keep the rest of the house waiting." She smirked, pulling him along. "Right now, your lies are as cute as the rest of you."


	4. Reduced Tolerance

Ratchet pawed absentmindedly at his throat and the bow wrapped around it as he sat as patiently as he could next to the leg of the table. His face made it more than clear he didn't enjoy being treated as a glorified lapdog, but the dining room had enough interesting details about it that he could keep himself entertained, and the more he learned about the current situation around him, the better odds he had of making it out this time. 'Know thy enemy', except reconnaissance had never involved him playing pet before.

"You sure he's the same runner I wanted to string up before? He's too . . ." Gabriel looked down at Ratchet, astonished.

"Well-mannered?" Anastasia offered, keeping the other end of Ratchet's leash tied to her chair.

"Not the right word . . ." Gabriel spoke up. "He's too docile. He's not putting up even half the fight I expected. It's as if he's-"

"Stifled." Ratchet muttered to himself, inspecting his claws.

"Stifled, that's the word . . . wait a minute, how did he-?" Gabriel blinked, looking down at Ratchet, who turned his head away from Gabriel on near-instinct. Gabriel leaned in close, causing Ratchet to turn away his head more — he didn't want to look at the bearded face that reminded him of Gleeman, and either way, he was reasonably certain that 'slaves' weren't supposed to look their masters in the eyes.

Ratchet's eyes flew wide as he felt the tip of Gabriel's nearby cane against his back, feeling it press against his new clothes. He'd slipped up, he knew it . . .

"Come on, you're not going to pretend to be mute after that!" Gabriel stood up, his chair groaning as he pushed himself out of it and away from the table. "A61! Get in here!"

"Yes, Maste'?" A voice spoke up, and Ratchet turned to see who it was. A tawny, dirty Lombax girl stood in the doorway, dressed in a dingy hemp robe that kept her body covered up, and her hair kept tightly bound under a bandana of some kind. Around her wrists were the only 'pretty' thing about her; a pair of black leather wristlets with purple lace poking out.

"See if you can get K12 here to 'speak up' a little better." Gabriel barked, pointing to Ratchet. "I want to make sure of what I heard."

"Father, this isn't necessary." Anastasia offered. "He just talks a little different."

This recieved a snort in reply from Master Vox. "A 'little'? We'll see about that."

A61 moved in closer, eyes wide at Ratchet, while Ratchet sat on the ground and looked back at her. "All right, K12, I don't know what they want you talkin' for, but you best tell me what's going on . . ."

"No." Ratchet responded, eyes still on her wrists. The leather cinched around her wrists had grommets in it, and on the wristlets, beside the lace, Ratchet saw a pair of metal D-loops, likely to keep her chained up when she wasn't kept busy . . . or at least, that's what Ratchet secretly hoped they were for. The other conclusion his mind leapt to disturbed him too much to dwell on for long.

"Now come on, K12, it's okay. You can talk wit' me." A61 smiled at him, trying to keep him calm. "You don't need to look at me like that, honest . . ."

"What's with your handcuffs?" Ratchet spoke up, cautious. He had to be careful not to use the wrong words again, or else Gabriel might catch on.

A61 shuddered, but walked in closer. "Now don't you worry about those. I just wanna talk."

"You're not telling me that you're wearing patent leather just because you-. HEY!" Ratchet spoke up, then yelped as Gabriel grabbed him by the scruff. "Let me go!"

"I knew you sounded smarter than you looked . . ." Gabriel growled. "Who taught you how to talk like that, hm?"

"Father, he's not a-!"

The swift crack of leather on leather started Ratchet, as he saw Gabriel reach out and slap Anastasia, causing her to grab the right side of her face. Anastasia held her cheek, looking out at her father with stunned eyes. "Damn it, girl, you can't coddle critters!"

Anastasia was still stunned, a slight whimpering in her voice. "F-father . . ."

"Just because they look like your stuffed animals doesn't mean they wouldn't kill you given half the chance!" Gabriel growled, digging his claws into the fur of Ratchet's neck, before yanking the ribbon-leash free of Ratchet's neck. "They can't comprehend kindness and beauty! They don't understand order! You expect them to know order, you have to beat it into them!"

"Let me go!" Ratchet cried out, trying to pull himself loose. "I'm a good Lombax!"

"Oh, then you'll be a _better_ one once I'm through with you . . ." Gabriel hissed, dragging Ratchet through three rooms before he flung the door wide, walking out towards a dirt-covered courtyard. Ratchet looked forward just enough to see a nearby shed, and next to the shed he saw what looked to be an old swingset, except where the chains met the swingseats, there were locks at the junction points. "Antonio! Kerouac! Get out here! I need a new pair of cinchers and the means to use 'em!"

"Father, no!" Anastasia ran out behind the two, holding her dress to run. "You'll make him want to run again!"

"Better a runner off my property than a prophet on it!" Gabriel growled, his eyes perking up as Antonio showed up, with a second Kendril by his side, only distinguishable by a slightly grayer set of scales. "Tony, get this slave a fresh pair of 'bracelets'. Kerry . . . Get me something that'll leave marks."

"Not even the first night in and you're already in trouble?" Antonio whistled as he grabbed hold of Ratchet by an arm. "Oh me oh my, not coping to house life well, are you?"

Ratchet started trying to stuggle, his eyes on Antonio. "What the hell's going on? I didn't do anything!"

"Shut up and take it like the slave you are!" Antonio growled, before pulling Ratchet in close, pinning the Lombax's arms in a bear hug. He kept his eyes on Ratchet before whispering, "I mean it, calm down. All things considered, you'd likely be getting whipped before the week was out anyway . . . You want to keep yourself out of the trees? Then be glad this is all they'll do to you."

With that, Antonio reached out with one of his secondary arms, holding up a fresh pair of wristlets, this time with bright red lace on them. "Now hold your hands out. I'll try not to make 'em too tight."

"What's with the colors?" Ratchet spoke up, holding one hand out, even though Ratchet's hand was still in a tightly balled fist.

"You get red ones each time we have to discipline you. Stay out of trouble, and we swap 'em out daily for another color until they come off entirely." Antonio spoke up, before locking Ratchet's first cincher in place. "Now the other one."

Ratchet held out his other hand, calming down. "So they're going to whip me?"

"Yeah . . . probably just five strokes. It's your first time, and it's dinner, so he won't want to waste time with you." Antonio remarked, securing the second cincher on. "Now get your back bare, quickly. No point getting new clothes cut up."

Ratchet nodded, suddenly finding himself more compliant. He'd taken hard pulse blasts, gunshots, turret fire . . . compared to that, getting whipped would feel like nothing to him. Finally, he'd found a use for his combat experience in this place.

Suddenly, he seemed to have more confidence in himself as he took off his jacket, followed by his vest and shirt, swinging his arms slightly as he did so, in order to stretch as he looked back out towards Gabriel, noting the large Zillan's silhouette in the mercury lighting.

A moment later, and Ratchet turned back to look up at Antonio. "Now what?"

"Walk with me." The Kendril offered out one of his secondary hands, leading Ratchet towards the swingset he kept eyeing. Antonio took hold of Ratchet's hands, quickly directing him where to stand, holding Ratchet's hands in place until Ratchet got the hint and wrapped his hands around the chains. He dully noted Antonio adjusting the padlocks, moving them up to Ratchet's current grip, locking Ratchet against the chains, holding him to the spot.

He turned his head to look behind him, catching a glance of 'Kerry' returning with what looked to be a bullwhip, before handing it over to Gabriel. Gabriel smirked, hefting the whip high and giving it an experimental crack in the crisp evening air. Ratchet smirked, almost shaking his head as he turned his head back to a more comfortable position, shutting his eyes. He'd be shocked if he even felt what they were about to do to him.

The first strike across his back shattered that illusion instantly.

Ratchet's eyes flew wide, screaming in a dull roar as flashbulbs went off in the back of his eyes, the pain catching him completely off-guard. He should have remembered — this wasn't his time, it wasn't his world, and it wasn't his body, either. If he'd done the same thing back home, he probably would have been fine, but here, he had forgotten that while 'K12' probably had a decent muscle tone, he didn't have nearly the same threshold of pain, just from sheer lack of conditioning.

"That's enough!" Anastasia shouted up, running to her father. "You're hurting him!"

"Isn't that the idea?" Gabriel chided her, cracking his whip across Ratchet's back again, smiling as he heard the Lombax scream again, his knees already starting to buckle.

Anastasia's eyes went wide again. "Please . . . he's not used to this!"

Gabriel glared at his daughter, frowning at her. "Fine. I'll stop."

"Thank you." Anastasia remarked, but then blinked in surprise as Gabriel forcibly placed the whip into her hands, noting one of his claws pointing towards Ratchet.

"Don't thank me just yet." Gabriel spat. "You want to complain about how I punish my slaves, then YOU can whip him. You needed to learn soon anyway. After all, in a few years, you'll be the new Matriarch . . ."

Her eyes went wide in shock, and she looked to Antonio and Kerouac, as though for advice, but both Kendrils took a step back. Antonio was the only one of the pair to speak up. "Sorry, Mistress Anastasia, but he's right. Besides, the boy only needs three more strokes . . . so it could be worse."

"Ana . . ." Ratchet whimpered, glancing back at her, noting the whip in her hands.

Anastasia sighed, testing her grip on the hilt. "Turn around, K12 . . . I'll be quick."

Ratchet blinked, then turned his head back, bracing himself now, his eyes already clenched shut and waiting for tears to well. Anastasia's first crack of the whip came in too high, but Ratchet could feel the very tip slicing against one of his ears.

"No, no, aim a little lower. And ease up on the grip." Gabriel remarked. "Now that one didn't count, so do it right this time . . . bring the arm back, put your torso into it . . ."

Ratchet howled on the next crack, feeling it split right across his shoulder blades, and he could have sworn he felt skin separate. He could hear the polite applause coming from the other side of the courtyard; the two workhands were both clapping for Anastasia's lash.

The second and third lashes came on the heels of each other, and Ratchet lurched forward from the pain, having trouble holding himself up. He was soon hanging by his cinchers, glancing feebly back at the 'masters' around him. Ratchet put one knee up on the seat of the swing to help stabilize himself, his eyes still on Anastasia, who had the worst look of regret on her face, even as she held the whip in her hands.

"Excellent, daughter!" Gabriel beemed. "You'll make a fine Matriarch yet. But come on, dinner's waiting."

Anastasia's eyes darted back to Ratchet's. "What about K12?"

"He's in no condition to move right now. Best leave him out here overnight." Gabriel spoke up, then noticed the look on Anastasia's face, as though pleading with him. "That said, he's your servant. You handle him."

"Antonio, let K12 back in the house once he's caught his breath." Anastasia spoke up, darting over towards the swingset. "Don't let him stay out too long if it decides to turn cold, though."

"Duly noted, Mistress." Antonio nodded, tipping his hat.

Anastasia nodded, then picked up her dress just enough to kneel down, giving Ratchet a brief stroke across the ears. "Come find me when you get back inside. We need to talk."

Ratchet merely picked up his eyes to look at Anastasia for the briefest of moments, but then averted his gaze, bowing his head. He brought his hands in closer, pulling the chains with them, to further hammer in his point as Anastasia walked off, her eyes on Ratchet the whole time until she was back in the house.


	5. Fitful Sleep

Ratchet's demeanor had changed notably by the time he re-entered the house, a collection of bandages and plasters covered up by his elaborate suit, save for a small plaster on his ear from Anastasia's first attempt with the whip. Where he had once been eagerly scanning his surroundings and trying almost too hard to behave like he was 'just another house-slave', he seemed despondent, wrapped up in his own mind, and behaving so mechanically that having to pretend he was a slave was less of an act now.

"For what it's worth, you did well." Antonio remarked, cradling Ratchet in his secondary arms while his main ones held a lantern in one hand and a set of keys in the other. "Most slaves are sent blubbering and praying in their first session."

"I'm not most people." Ratchet remarked, his eyes focused on the red lace that even now poked out of his sleeves. His cinchers were now padlocked to each other, giving him a glorified set of handcuffs that he just couldn't take his eyes off of, as though horrified in shock.

"Yeah? Well keep it to yourself." The Kendril began to walk up the staircase once more, taking his time. "Gabriel's very particular about the slaves he owns; he likes 'em dumb, he likes 'em young, and he likes 'em pregnant. You're old enough to end up in the factories, and you can't get pregnant, so don't screw up being dumb."

"Or what, he'll whip me again?" Ratchet remarked.

"Well, if you weren't house-bound now, let alone the Mistress's servant, he'd likely have tried to hang you again. Once he was convinced he had a real prophet on his hands, of course." The workhand shrugged. "Since you've got Anastasia's favor though, he'll likely stick to anything that ain't killing you. He'll whip you, he'll purse you, and if you're still too smart for his liking after all of that, he'll geld you."

Ratchet groaned, bringing his hands up to his head. "I don't need to think about that . . ."

"Oh, I didn't tell you how much he'd be gelding . . ." The Kendril hissed, slightly pleased to have hit a nerve. "But we won't be needing to go that far with you. You're probably smart enough to stop before we get past the whipping . . . or at least I'm sure the Mistress will hope you are."

Ratchet nodded, a small amount of fear in his eyes. Antonio wasn't exactly 'kind' to him the way Anastasia was, but at least he was being fair about his position to him. Still, he couldn't tell what he feared more about what Antonio was saying: the threat of getting rather sensitive bits of his body hacked off, or that Gabriel might force Anastasia to be the one to perform more of the punishments on him. She was his best shot of escaping this place, and the more she was 'required' to do to him, the more she'd think that Ratchet wasn't worth the extra effort.

Ratchet's mind quickly went to the terrifying thought of whether he'd rather prefer being castrated in this timeline or stuck as a slave for the remainder of his days here instead, but before he could finish his thought, he heard Antonio working open the lock on a door with one of his keys, before gingerly knocking and slowly opening the door.

"I've got K12 right here, Mistress." Antonio spoke up, looking inside the room to see Anastasia covered in robes on her bed, her eyes wide upon seeing the exhausted Ratchet in the Kendril's arms.

"Goddess . . . he doesn't look well at all . . ." She remarked, her eyes wide.

The Kendril chuckled, letting a few of his snake-hairs laugh with him. "Don't worry about it; you've got a real scout in this one. I've seen enough whippings to know he behaved well." he put Ratchet down at the foot of her bed, before returning his gaze to her. "Now look, I know it was your first time too, but don't go all soft on him. You've got to make sure he gets the message that you control him, and that the better he behaves, the better you treat him."

Anastasia nodded, reaching forward and noting the padlock on Ratchet's cinchers. "Did Father mention any further 'corrections'?"

"Not to me." He shrugged, before checking Ratchet's shoulders. "Make sure K12's up by eight so he can get the locks off and I'll dial him down to orange."

She looked down at Ratchet, still fearful. "No 'conditioning'?"

"Not yet. If he plays up too soon after, he will." Antonio rolled his eyes. "Either way, I don't think he'll be trying much more. He seems to get the message quick." Antonio smiled, his hairs perking up to grin at Ratchet. "Either way, I must be going; Good night, Mistress Anastasia."

With this, Antonio turned to leave, and as soon as the door clicked shut, her arms darted over with the rest of her to quickly sweep up Ratchet, holding him tight. "I'm so glad you're okay . . ."

"I'm sorry . . ." Ratchet whispered, his eyes still diverted away.

"I'm sorry too; I didn't want to whip you, but I-"

"It's my fault." Ratchet sighed, his head still turned away.

"Shh . . . Father just doesn't understand you. Things will be better tommorow." Anastasia spoke, stroking Ratchet's ear a little harder now. "After all, I'll be heading into town to see Captain Qwark's return, and I'll need my assistant with me, won't I?"

"Qwark's here?" Ratchet blinked, incredulous.

Anastasia blinked. "You've heard of him?"

"Who hasn't? He's only the biggest bl-. . . er, I mean, you know how word spreads around here . . ." Ratchet spoke, before catching himself and trying to sound more 'normal'.

"Well then you'll be wanting to really see him, won't you?" She smirked, before patting his behind to get him off of the bed, and then opening the door to his laundry-space. "For now, go on and get ready to sleep. I'll get some nano-salve for your marks in the morning. Sleep well, K12."

Ratchet nodded, gingerly walking into the crawl-space, noting the dull clatter and click as Anastasia locked it behind him. Still lacking a better bed or any way to set his clothes aside for the next day, he flopped over into the laundry basket, curling up among the dirty clothes, trying to get into a position that would make his marks hurt the least.

If this were home, he'd be curling up next to Clank; even on DreadZone, Ratchet found himself at least talking with Clank until he fell asleep, if he couldn't hold him close. Here, he had no one to talk to or reach out for except himself. It took a few minutes for Ratchet to drift off, his body contorted into a fetal positon with his legs clenched tightly around his wrists, murmuring as he counted off prime numbers.


	6. What's In A Name

"K12! Get your ass out here!" Antonio shouted up, standing near the shed with a ring of keys in one hand and a pair of orange-laced cinchers in another. "You got five seconds to get your furry tail out here and offer out your arms, or else I'm gonna leave your padlock on another day!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Ratchet cried out, tripping over himself to try and get out through the screen door, only to leave himself lurching for Antonio. The Kendril chuckled, catching Ratchet in his free hands.

"Not coping well to house life still?" The workhand smirked. "We can fix that."

"Just get the padlock off so I don't have to grab myself with both hands to pee!" Ratchet shot back, holding his wrists out.

"New Lesson, kid; don't talk back to me next time. Talking back to other people ain't too wise either." With a few clicks, Ratchet's wrists were free of the padlock, but be received a sharp rap on his hands for his trouble. "I'll let you off light because you're still getting the hang of this, but around here, obedience is a lot more important than it was in the factories."

"So I'm noticing." Ratchet remarked, holding his hands out still. "Getting whipped for finishing someone else's sentence yesterday made that rather clear."

"Well don't keep doing that if you value your backside." Antonio remarked, switching out Ratchet's red cinchers. "Any plans for today?"

Ratchet blinked, nervous to actually speak up. "A . . . Anastasia mentioned going to meet Captain Qwark."

Antonio blinked, raising the brim of his hat to look at Ratchet. "Did she, now? Well, then . . ." Antonio grabbed hold of Ratchet's bare wrists, giving Ratchet a hollow smile. "We've gotta rinse you off, now don't we?"

_One lash-stinging bath and redressing later . . . _

"Anastasia!" The Kendril shouted up, with Ratchet beside him, now wearing orange-laced cinchers and a chain collar around his neck, connected to a leash. "Come on! You know as well as I do when Qwark comes in!"

"I'm hurrying!" She spoke up, running out through the front door of the mansion, donned up in a tan-colored dress with a wide-brimmed hat tied under her chin. "Oh! I knew I forgot something . . . I was going to put some nano on K12's marks."

"I've already redressed them. He'll be fine." Antonio remarked, handing Anastasia the chain leash. "Now remember, if you can't hold onto the leash, tie him off or hand it off to someone trustworthy. If you don't, one look at his wrists and he'll get picked up as a runner again."

She nodded, taking hold of his leash. "Are you coming with us?"

"I've got my shifts to run, Mistress. You two go on and give Julia my regards — Lord knows the girl needs 'em." Antonio spoke up, turning away as he waved, his hairs perking up to nod their goodbyes as well, watching to see Anastasia and Ratchet start walking down the paved path.

"So . . . tell me more about Captain Qwark?" Ratchet glanced up at Anastasia, one hand wrapped around his leash. At least if he was holding it rather than letting himself be jerked around about the neck, it was a little more tolerable.

"What's to say? He's only the biggest hero to Blackwater City and the Caldera Islands in a century." Anastasia smirked, noting that Ratchet was having trouble keeping up with her. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm . . . fine . . ." Ratchet eked out, coughing, suddenly noting the tightness around his neck.

"You're not . . . oh!" Anastasia smirked, picking up Ratchet and dusting off the soles of his shoes, before loosening the hold of the chain collar around his neck. "You poor thing . . . didn't anyone tell you that thing gets tighter the more you pull on it?"

Ratchet was about to speak out 'Not fast enough', but soon thought better of it and quickly curled up to enjoy the ride in Anastasia's arms. She started into a hard trot, her legs pistoning against the ground and leaving Ratchet with a slightly bumpy ride, at least until they got to the town's edge, where she let him down and started to walk at a more leisurely pace.

The first thing that hit Ratchet's eyes about the town was the series of brick buildings, all set up in their own grids and arrangements; where he was used to seeing steel and nano, there was glass and mortar; the banners of binary were nonexistant; even the advertising he saw in the town was strange; he was used to seeing robots and their trappings all over modern cities, but now? He didn't see a one.

_Do robots even exist yet?_ Ratchet blinked, confused, but then realized his answer; they didn't. Not only did they not exist — at least not in the way he was used to them, as thinking beings rather than automata or mere machines — no one would even bother with making a robot behave like a human until there was a need for them to replace a certain gap in society. He remembered learning in his language classes long ago that the word 'robot' came from the Russian word (whatever the hell a 'Russia' was, he didn't really ask) for 'slave'. In a twisted sense, he was the 'robot' for his time period; or at least he was expected to be.

He suddenly felt a quick pang for Clank and how he'd treated him half the time, but the pang was gone with a tug on his leash and a quick order to 'Come along'.

"Where are we going?" Ratchet asked, looking back up at Anastasia again.

She chuckled. "Don't worry, K12, we're almost there."

Ratchet nodded, before looking up at an archaic structure, seeing the silhouette of a Lombax on the rooftop, swaying as though he was on an unsteady step. He could faintly make out a light chanting coming from the silhouette as well, but he couldn't understand it at all. He did, however, notice Anastasia giving a complicit nod, before walking towards the front of the building.

The first human he'd seen since he got here walked forward, a light, lacey headdress on her head, along with a busty purple bodice and a wide dress, almost maternal in her steps. The scream of red hair on her head set her apart, and she glanced over at Anastasia and Ratchet with a smile. "Good morning, Miss Vox!"

"Morning to you too, Julia!" Anastasia smirked, picking Ratchet up again as she trotted over to the human. "Everything ready for the good Captain's arrival?"

"I've got the girls working on the final touches." Julia smirked, before turning to look at Ratchet. "He's a new face . . . have a price tag on him?"

"Not for sale!" Ratchet stammered out, backing up on instinct.

Julia raised an eyebrow, before remarking to Anastasia, "Very new face, I see."

"K12, this is Julia de Archanis." Anastasia spoke up, setting Ratchet to stand in front of Julia. "She runs the local distillery for the town."

Ratchet blinked, before looking up at Julia again with a nervous eye. "Good morning, Miss."

"You don't need to be afraid of me, little fellow." Julia smiled, kneeling down and offering her hand, which Ratchet shook, trying hard to keep his eyes on her hand. "I'm everyone's friend around these parts."

Ratchet blinked at her, still confused. Anastasia glanced down at Julia. "You know, you don't have to-"

"CAPTAIN'S BACK!" A voice cried out, and Ratchet noticed as the silhouette he spotted earlier from the rooftop latch onto some nearby laundry lines, twisting and flipping down until it was clear that he was a black Lombax, who quickly adjusted his clothes and skullcap before shouting out again. "Five minutes 'til he docks, Julia!"

"He's faster than I thought." Julia shot back up to standing, before running back inside and shouting. "Five minutes, girls!"

"Come on, K12, let's hurry!" Anastasia smirked, trotting towards the docks, and leaving Ratchet to try and keep up. As he ran, however, he saw the black Lombax trotting alongside him, keeping up.

The Lombax smirked, then tipped his skullcap once more. "Morning there, poodle."

"Who the hell do you think you're calling a poodle?" Ratchet shot back, insulted, even as he only caught his breath once Anastasia found a bench at the pier.

"You're all dolled up and on a leash. What else am I meant to call you?" The black Lombax chuckled again, before offering out his hand. "Name's Mordecai. Nice to meet you."

Ratchet blinked, eyes wide in shock. "Julia actually named you?"

"Hell no, I named myself!" Mordecai smirked, his hand still out, and Ratchet now shook it, eyes wide in awe. "You look confused . . ."

"Most people are when they meet you." Anastasia remarked, glancing down at the two. "You're quite the sight."

Mordecai blinked, then frowned. "Now come on, Miss Vox; don't tell me you're bothered by me too."

"You're just . . . it's odd to look at you." Anastasia spoke up, averting her eyes to the sea.

Mordecai glared at her for a moment, but then turned back to Ratchet. "I'll be a lot happier here when I'm not the only Lombax on this entire island with a name."

"I'm confused. Why?" Ratchet spoke up, glancing back at Anastasia, then at the new Lombax.

"'Cause it means I won't be the only free Lombax here, that's why!" He shot back, before remarking, "Look, Poodle, you'd have to actually _want _freedom to understand . . ."

"Of course I do! And my name's not 'Poodle', it's R-!" Ratchet shot back and then paused, looking up to see some of the other townspeople arriving, and giving the pair weird looks. "Err . . . look, just call me 'K12'. Everyone else here does."

"Still wearing your designation like a badge of honor. Cute." Mordecai chuckled, giving the Lombax a knowing look. "We should talk more. I like you already."

"Here he comes!" Anastasia popped up, and more townspeople began to file in. Ratchet began to move with Miss Vox, and Mordecai was right behind him, running up towards the edge of the docks as a large wooden brig, clad in green sails, pulled itself up.

Ratchet saw the ship, but was having a hard time seeing where Qwark was meant to be, at least until a gangplank lowered itself from the ship, with a toned man stepping toward, clad once again in green and navy blue, with a bevy of brown curls and a wide-brimmed, feathered hat upon his head.

Julia came forth from the crowd, her eyes aglitter as she looked up at him, "Captain!"

"Oh, a _ship's_ captain . . ." Ratchet whispered to himself, earning a strange look from Mordecai. "What? I'm new here!"

"Julia! It's been too long . . ." Qwark spoke as he came down the gangplank, sounding way too suave and classy than the Qwark Ratchet knew. He still had an impressive chin, though. "But I've once again returned back to port a success!"

"Excellent. What's our profit this time around?" Julia spoke up, wrapping her arms around Qwark's form.

"I'll talk money with you once we're inside. For now though, we have a ship to unload, and a thirst that needs quenching!" Qwark spoke up, before pointing at Mordecai. "M34, get me rum!"

Mordecai glared, before Julia spoke up. "James . . . Captain . . . he's Mordecai now. Treat him like you should."

"Bah, you're too kind." Qwark shot back. "Very well, then, but I still demand rum!"

"I take it he's not seen you in a while . . ." Ratchet remarked, smirking.

"Stuff it, 'K12'. This was one of his longer routes." Mordecai shot back. "Trust me, once he's got a few drinks in him, he'll get my name right."


	7. The Two Way Ticket

The interior of Julia's distillery was a far different sight than the exterior, aside from being packed to the gills — beautiful Lombax slave girls, dressed in short skirts with layers upon layers of petticoats and busty tops every bit as revealing as the one Julia herself wore spun around as they carried trays of fine golden rum and answered their clients with carefree smiles and giggles punctuating each statement; indeed, the only sign that the girls were in any straits at all were thanks to their white-laced cinchers they wore on their ankles and flashed sights of each time they handed a drink to another customer, typically from having to bend over the table as it was.

Julia, Anastasia and Qwark were over in one corner with a few other special folk, while Ratchet and Mordecai were now sitting together only an arm's length away from them, with Mordecai busy at the upright piano and Ratchet just taking most of the sights in, almost in shock.

"M'sieu!" One of the girls spoke up, her eyes on Ratchet. "Are you helping our Mordecai with the music tonight?"

"Er, no, I'm just-"

"He's with me." Mordecai remarked, before adding on. "His master's at Qwark's table. Ask if the boy can sample some of the house's specialty."

"Of course, M'sieu Mordecai!" The girl grinned, and then skipped off to do her work, and yet Ratchet couldn't tear her eyes away from the coffee-furred stripeless girl.

"Who was that?" Ratchet blinked, glancing over at Mordecai.

"Oh, her? D19. Not that you'll remember anything about her by the time the night's done." Mordecai chuckled, shaking Ratchet's shoulder. "Rest assured, the girls here are all great. You'll get drunk on women long before the rum hits you if you're not careful."

Ratchet nodded, just watching the waitresses take their time as they shuttled from one table to the next. "I see why you like this place."

"It pays well enough." Mordecai remarked, his fingers still dancing across piano keys as he kept playing the music. "So, K12, what do you actually do at your place?"

Ratchet blinked, before glancing over at Anastasia sitting at the captain's table, having a time of things. "I'm her assistant."

Mordecai raised an eyebrow. "Come on, you can tell me more than that."

"Not really. It's only my second day." Ratchet shrugged, leaning back for a moment before realizing he would've been laying on keys. "Your music sounds good."

"Hey, I had to learn, now didn't I?" Mordecai chuckled. "Was part of the requirements for my manumission exams."

Ratchet blinked, perking up. "Man-what?"

"Manumission." Mordecai smirked, before tacking on, "How someone goes about from being a poodle like yourself to a guy like me."

"Oh . . . oh!" Ratchet spoke, then perked up as he realized this might be the out he was looking for. Being 'free' here meant he'd be able to spend some actual time on trying to figure out how to get back to his own time — if, indeed, it was possible to go back at all, seeing how his last memory was of him supposedly dying — and even if he discovered that he couldn't go back, being free had to have its own perks. Mordecai was doing pretty well, after all. "Wait, how?"

"Let me finish up this set and then I'll start talking." Mordecai responded, before ending his latest song on a flourish. He then sat down, turning to face Ratchet. "What exactly are you looking to know?"

"Everything. How you did it, how I'm supposed to . . ."

"That's a lot of ground to cover." Mordecai held a hand up as he spoke, "But I'll try my best at it. First, you got to learn enough stuff for people to realize you've got some brains under there; you need to know how to read, you need to know how to write, you need to know how to talk, and I mean talk _right_, and you need to know how to play an instrument. Second, you got to find a place that'll give you a job, and you're more qualified than anybody else to actually get that job. Third, you need a patron that'll cover your ass if you mess up in your first year — trouble is, if you mess up too bad, you're their slave, but at least you only need to find a job again to get yourself freed again."

Ratchet's eyes went wide. "I'm surprised you managed it."

"Well, it helps if your Patron and your old Master happen to be the same thing; Julia's been a great woman to me like that." Mordecai smirked, looking back at her before returning his eyes to Ratchet. "And that's just the bare minimum; they like to bend the rules a little if you've got actual artistic skill, or you're offering to do a job that they've had real trouble in filling — anything where you're more useful to 'em as an example of 'the Named' than you are as someone else's slave, really. They think something about having a few of us around makes the other slaves work harder than they would if they thought they had no chance.

"Likewise, if your Master's been telling tales about you to the officials, you've got almost no chance 'cause they'll see you as a troublemaker, unless you're so damned brilliant that they see beyond your fur. And then there's all the little things that add up; good grooming, a Master with high status, takin' up a religion — they really like that, but you need to do it right or it won't count — good physique, working in a high-profile position for your Master, things like that." Mordecai smiled, reaching out a hand as another bar beauty walked by.

"She said you could have one, M'seiu." The girl smiled, handing Ratchet a drink as well. "Use it wisely!"

Ratchet nodded, glancing down into the amber mix before taking an experimental sip. "Now, then, about your process . . ."

"I decided to take up a job over at the local synagogue; it's about three blocks down from here if you're wondering. It was a little more work than the usual process, but I was able to do a lot better on the exams because of it, 'cause like I said; it's not a job that sought after, I got brownie points for the religious stuff, and knowing Hebrew along with Standard meant I had two languages, which really impressed 'em." Mordecai chuckled. "Me, I was just glad the pain finally went down after I finished the exams."

Ratchet blinked. "Pain from what?"

"Gettin' converted! I wanted to make sure I did things right; got myself circumcised and everything!" The darker Lombax gave Ratchet a smirk. "If you don't believe me, we can go back and-"

"NO!" Ratchet recoiled on instinct, backing up and falling off the piano bench, causing enough stir to silence the bar.

Mordecai blinked, looking down at him, before saying, "K12, if I wanted you like that I'd just ask Miss Vox how much it cost to rent you."

At this, the bar returned with a hard laughter that burned down Ratchet's spine in embarrassment, before he accepted Mordecai's hand to help him back up. Ratchet sat down again, suddenly wanting to drink more of his rum now; anything to get that last mental image out of his head and the sudden imagined taste out of his mouth.

"Even for a Named he's still a riot!" Qwark chortled, pulling Julia in closer towards him. "I'm surprised you let him get that close to your property, Miss Vox."

"He's not hurting him." Anastasia shrugged, glancing back over at Julia and James Qwark. "Careful how close you two sit, now . . ."

"Please. It's already obvious to half the town." Julia remarked, giving Anastasia a knowing look.

"Yes, but no reason to tip off the other half."

"I have stills to be tending to anyway." Julia stood back up, dusting her apron off, careful to keep the stars on her apron a pristine white. "I'll make sure the good captain's kept comfortable while I'm brewing."

Anastasia nodded to this, letting Julia past before she returned her eyes to K12 and Mordecai. "Wait, Julia . . . one moment."

"Wanting one of my rarer blends?" Julia glanced back at her.

Miss Vox shook her head. "K12 over there . . . you think he's . . . 'special' enough?"

Julia raised an eyebrow. "You know what I say about the 'special' ones."

"Yeah, which is why I'm asking you."

Julia glanced over at Ratchet, tilting her head, before looking back at Anastasia. "He's got the spark in him. I'll take care of him for you for 1500."

"I don't mind doing it myself. I just wanted your opinion on him." Anastasia replied, smirking a bit. "Best be on your way now, de Archanis. I assure you I'll be on mine soon enough."


	8. Let There Be Light

Ratchet curled up in the laundry basket this time, having shed his clothes and currently curled up among what he could only assume was whatever passed for Anastasia's brassiere and the soft, fluffy tulle of her petticoats. Night came quick, and Ratchet had still be so affected by the drink he'd received tonight that he'd all but forgotten to ask Anastasia for help with teaching him how to pass his exams.

He knew in the back of his head he'd have to learn how to read all over again; once he relearned a few symbols, he should be able to fake the rest, but he wasn't sure how 'fast' he could progress before someone caught on. He already had talking down . . . learning an instrument would be the tough part. Even if he was able to pick up something simple, he'd make a lot of noise while learning — and Gabriel would catch on quickly that Ratchet was learning something. He either had to find someplace where he could learn in peace or at least find a way to keep Gabriel out of the house for a few hours at a time.

He groaned, taking hold of himself and drifting off in the slightly sound knowledge that at least this place wasn't a total nightmare. Mordecai was useful, Anastasia was helpful, Julia had to be okay if Mordecai liked her, and if this Qwark was anything like the one he knew, he probably at least surrounded himself with good people even if he was as much an idiot as his descendant . . . He could only hope that was enough.

"Wake up, rodent!"

"Wha!" Ratchet yelped, barely having time to pull on something that at least resembled pants before a series of hands flung open the laundry door and yanked him out. "Fu-!"

"Sh!" One hand clapped over Ratchet's mouth while the other three held him still. "You don't want to wake up the mistress, do you?"

"What in the seven c- . . .what do you think you're doing, Ant?" Ratchet snarled, glaring straight into the eyes of the workman. Antonio blinked, shocked to see that a mere slave would even risk that kind of contact, but put it out of his mind.

"Come with me, K12. Kerry and I need you for a game." The Kendril trotted down the steps, carrying Ratchet with him.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes. "This game better not leave me hanging from a tree . . ."

"Hey, we just need a third hand for this . . . and better we ask you than to get the mistress involved, eh?" Antonio smirked, walking Ratchet outside. "Ever played footy before?"

Ratchet raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was going, and shivering as he realized that there was a draft, before looking down and noticing that he'd put on one of Anastasia's collars that made a pathetic skirt on him. "Enough . . ."

"Good." Antonio pointed out to where the second Kendril stood, kicking around a ball that glowed with three fierce inner lights, all of them yellow. "You're referee. We play, you keep track of the ball, got it?"

"I think so . . ." Ratchet raised an eyebrow, wondering who was going to be keeping track of him while all this was going on. It'd be the perfect opportunity to run, if not for the fact that Kerry and Tony would already have a heads up if he bolted. He'd simply have to be careful . . .

With a hard kick and a trail of glowing light, the game started, and Ratchet found himself darting back and forth to keep up with matters.

There didn't seem to be much scoring in this game; just a lot of back and forth volleying and kicking about, leaving Ratchet with one hand on his makeshift skirt and the other hand pumping with his legs to keep up. Ratchet quickly noticed how while the workmen's main eyes were on the ball, the snakeheads of their hairs were all shifted towards Ratchet, watching him instead.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes as his mind leapt to the conclusion that what was really being gamed here was himself. They didn't care about the ball, just about how fast he ran.

"CATCH!" Kerouac pitched the ball with the side of his foot, and Ratchet found himself leaping up to try and catch the ball, but it went sailing over his head, and into the nearby lake. Ratchet growled, then blinked as he noticed a delicate, doily-laced collar flying up into the wind and over the lake as well.

Ratchet shut his eyes in embarrassment as he heard the two workmen laugh, as the Lombax became keenly aware he was only clad in his bracelets right now. His mind half-wandered into the idea that maybe this had been the idea all along, and his legs instinctively bristled, a hint of bottled rage in his face and fur at the very thought of ending up violated by those two. Never mind the fact he'd thought nearly everything about this whole enslavement ordeal seemed to leave his mind in the gutter; at this point, a little paranoia was one of his few defenses left.

Antonio chuckled, looking down at the little Lombax. "What'cha waiting for, K12? Go get the ball!"

"Can't." Ratchet remarked, covering himself with his hands and tail as best he could. "My clothes flew off."

"All the more reason to go for a swim, right?" Kerouac pointed towards the lake. "I see your fabric sitting on the surface. Better go after it before it sinks. You running around naked is fine by us, but stealing the mistress's clothes and getting them lost in the lake will earn you right back up to red."

"And going back to red from orange means we get to up the ante . . ." Antonio hissed in one of Ratchet's ears. "Fifteen lashes do ya?"

Ratchet yelped, streaking through the tall grass as fast as he could, diving into the lake to swim as fast as he could to retrieve his clothes. His ears burned as he heard the two Kendrils laughing as he swam, but he kept his eyes on the collar. Soon after, he had the wet material tied about his neck, holding it in place; it wasn't a great solution, but it'd keep the collar from slipping again for now.

He sighed as he pressed on, focusing on the glowing ball in front of him. If he were closer to the edge of the lake, maybe he could've fashioned a little snorkel and pretended that he drowned until the two workmen went back to the house, but for now, he didn't have too many options except to keep going after the ball and hoping maybe he wouldn't get laugghed at when-.

Ratchet latched onto the glowing ball, then blinked; he wasn't hearing the laughing right now. He turned around to see the two Kendrils still there; and if he could see them, he should have been able to hear them still. It didn't make sense.

Ratchet blinked, then started paddling back towards the two, vaguely wondering if he should've taken the chance to take off. As he edged back in closer, though, he suddenly realized why he'd been told to 'keep up with the ball'.

His eyes went wide upon seeing the two silhouettes moving against each other, their hairs dancing wildly and bodies even more so, half in the water and half in the reeds. Ratchet knew better than to speak up — what happens in the species _stays _in the species, damn it — but that didn't mean he appreciated playing lookout.

"I'm heading in. Towels in the laundry room, right?" Ratchet remarked casually, sloughing out of the water right behind Antonio. "I'm guessing you two need them too . . . you lovebirds want me to see if they've got a jumbo-size for-? GYNH!"

"Shutup shutup shut! UP!" Antonio pounced on Ratchet, tackling him straight into the dirt. "Don't you NEVER, ever, tell anybody what you saw!"

"Double negative . . ." Ratchet remarked on instinct, before getting an elbow to his throat for his trouble.

"Listen here, K12 — the mistress or nobody else is to get wind of this night, got it?" The Kendril hissed as his partner quickly dashed out of the lake, tidying himself up. "Certain slaves saying certain things tend to get certain other people in trouble, especially said slave, got it?"

Ratchet blinked, wide-eyed, before smiling to himself; apparently this place wasn't as 'advanced' in a few more ways than he'd thought. "I don't know . . . my little brain might be too scarred to avoid mentioning such a bad memory . . . but you know, I hear good memories are great for covering up unpleasant ones . . ."

Antonio growled. "Come off it, rodent; Kerry and I might be deviant, but we're not THAT deviant!"

"No, no!" Ratchet held his hands out, letting the ball roll free a few inches. "I don't need that . . . but I bet I know what'd make a really good memory . . ." With that, Ratchet smirked, holding his wrists out to get Antonio see the cinchers on his wrists. "Favor for favor?"

Antonio narrowed his eyes, but then stood up, picking up the ball and then Ratchet in short order, carrying him back towards the house. "We'll see, rodent. Come find me extra-early tommorow morning, and we'll negotiate this further. In the meantime . . . I bet someone wants sleep."

"Need to dry off..." Ratchet mumbled, shivering already.

"We'll sort that." Antonio remarked, walking back into the laundry room and offering Ratchet a towel. "I'll take the collar . . . no point getting you in more trouble with the mistress, right?"

"Sure . . ." Ratchet replied, still half-dazed and one of his ears feeling waterlogged now.

Antonio nodded, tossing Ratchet a towel and even patting him off with the towel a little, before Ratchet cleaned himself up. "Oh, and . . . Here. A little something I know you 'might' find useful."

The Lombax blinked, before being handed a hardbound book with some golden letters on it. "Huh?"

"It's an old bible some of the Path were giving out the last time they came down here. Nothing that we care about, but eh, I know the mistress mentioned to me about you needing some learning material . . ." Antonio shrugged, before starting to lead Ratchet back to Anastasia's room. "Take that brick upstairs and see if you can read it. You might put some actual use into the thing."

"Thanks." Ratchet managed out, looking at the book, flipping open the first few pages as he headed up the steps. Certainly couldn't have been the _Pangean Record_, by any stretch, but it didn't look half-bad for what it was.

"Come on, we've got to get you to bed." Antonio spoke, quietly opening the door up and letting Ratchet inside. "I'll leave the little light in your crawlspace on if you want to get started."

"Thanks..." Ratchet remarked, quickly diving back into the basket with his new book as Antonio shut the door on him, but thankfully leaving him illuminated. As long as he finally had something even remotely interesting, he at least had a little piece of the education he needed to get out of here.

With a few flips of the pages, and a mild noting of the blocky, ink-styled letters half the book was written into while the other half was something he could at least pretend to understand, he cracked open the book properly. "In the begeg-... beginning, God cree-ay-ted the heavens and the . . . wow, this stuff really _is_ old . . ."


	9. For What it's Worth

Ratchet ran downstairs quickly, bolting outside to where Antonio sat near the shed, absentmindedly feeding his snake-hairs. Antonio smirked as he saw Ratchet running by, and the Kendril held up a small cube of meat. "Just in time!"

"So that's how you feed those things..." Ratchet spoke up, slightly amused.

"It keeps their throats clean. Here, try a bit." Antonio remarked, poking one of the cubes into Ratchet's mouth, and noting the look on his face. "Now don't spit that out, it's good meat."

Ratchet blinked at the taste in his mouth — it reminded him a little of beef, but not quite — as he chewed on it, but the realization hit him before he swallowed it. "Don't tell me that was pork . . ."

"Feh. Pigs are too expensive around here anyway." Antonio remarked, causing Ratchet to relax. "It's Kine."

Ratchet's eyes went wide again. "What?!"

"Come on, it's just meat!" Antonio spoke up, grabbing hold of Ratchet's wrist before he could go for the hose. "I was trying to be nice! You know, 'kind beef' and all, right?"

"Nice? You just made me a cannibal!" Ratchet shot back. "You even realize what Kine is?"

"Yeah, tasty." Antonio spoke up. "Now calm down, K12, I won't try it again . . . and if you keep being noisy about it, I'm not going to stay nice." Antonio picked up a pair of cinchers, this time in green. "I was going to offer you a chance to double down, but if you're going to be an ingrate about it . . ."

"Hey, I'll still take the new color." Ratchet recovered quickly, holding his hands out. He had gotten used to the switch-out by now, and was already sort of grateful that Antonio was sticking true to his word. Moments later, he looked down at his green-clad wrists, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Keep this up, and you'll have 'em off the day after next." Antonio smirked. "No bath today, because I know for a fact that your Mistress isn't heading into town. For that matter, you'll be lucky to see her before it's the afternoon."

"Why's that?" Ratchet blinked, then glanced over to see Antonio pointing towards the kitchen, where an array of other slaves were heading in. Ratchet took the hint, walking over to head in the door as well . . . and finding chaos.

There were Lombaxes running around all over the place, with pots of water and cuts of meat, half of them with bloodied feet not from abuse but from unsanitary conditions . . . with a whiff of blood in the air that Ratchet now recognized as Kine, his military instincts quickly took over.

"TEN-HUT!" Ratchet shouted at the top of his lungs, and the whole lot of them froze. "You two, get the hell out of the fridge door! There only needs to be one person messing with that meat, not three! There's entirely too many people in here, and for the love of God someone rinse off the floor!"

Their eyes were still wide, looking at Ratchet, who now had his arms crossed, before he added on, "And if you won't take my word on it, I'll bring Anastasia in here to say it for me!"

Those words got their attention, and soon enough the kitchen started running faster, with fewer cooks spoiling the broth and more people actually staying out of the way of business. Ratchet was still busy, though, offering his advice and orders where he could, but he only had a few minutes of control over the place before the door from the kitchen to the rest of the house cracked open, with Anastasia looking on in disbelief.

"Wow . . . it's so quiet in here now!" She spoke up, before looking down at Ratchet. "K12, what happened in here?"

"Just a little know-how . . ." Ratchet smirked. "If there's one thing I still remember how to do, it's how to run a smooth operation."

She glanced over at him with half-mast eyes, as though she didn't quite believe it, but then smirked. "Well, then, since you seem to have this lot under control, I bet I know someone who could use you right now a little more than us . . ."

There was a quizzical look on the Lombax's face as she took hold of his wrist and pulled him down the corridors, until she found Kerouac in the parlor. "Kerry! I need you to take K12 into town!"

Kerry blinked. "But I thought you liked him . . . how much are you expecting him to fetch?"

"I'm not selling him." Anastasia remarked. "But it appears K12 is a natural driver . . . take him into town and see if you can't offer his services to Captain Qwark for the day... I know at least the good captain will be able to put him to good use."

"Ah, that kind of errand!" Kerry smirked, tipping his cap and grabbing onto Ratchet's other wrist. "Now that, I can do!"

One choke chain and a half-hour of walking later, Ratchet found himself back in Blackwater City, ambling through the streets. Kerry wasn't nearly as imposing as Anastasia, but he made up for it with his nervous jerks of the chain, almost as though it was calculated to piss him off. Soon enough, Ratchet found himself back in front of the distillery again, and as the two walked up, they were able to hear the tail-end of an argument.

"You couldn't pay me enough to get back on that ship!" Mordecai growled, his silhouette visible in the window.

"Keep up that tone of voice and you'll be lucky to get paid at all . . ." Quark hissed back. "You know the rules — you're not allowed to turn down fair labor offers!"

Mordecai's voice also dropped into a hiss. "I can turn 'em down as long as I've got my patron backing me up and you know it!"

"Your patron's not about to let you slack off when it's her molasses on that ship! Now get out there and start unloading rum!" Quark growled, and five seconds later, the doors of the distillery slammed open as Mordecai stormed out, grimicing. Once he saw Ratchet, however, his face lit up. "Poodle! Back again so soon?"

"Actually-." Ratchet started up, but a quick smack in the back of the head from Kerry shut him up.

"We're here to offer K12's services as a driver to your master in there." Kerry remarked, pointing into the window.

Mordecai made a face. "He's not my master. He just still wishes he was."

"Regardless," Kerry spoke with a sneer, "We're here to lend the good captain a hand. Now make sure this whelp gets put to some good use!"

"I'm headed down to the docks anyway." Mordecai spoke, latching onto the chain leash. "When do you want him back?"

Kerry glanced down at the little black Lombax, not conviced, but amused at the situation regardless. "I'll return to the ship at 5:00. Make sure he's ready by then."

"Done." Mordecai started walking, and Ratchet blinked for a moment before he realized that Mordecai was actually walking him.

He ran up close beside Mordecai, wide-eyed. "Are you mad?"

"Not at your 'friend' up there." The witty Jew gave him a brief smile. "I'd rather do this work with a friend anyway. If nothing else, at least I've got witnesses this time around."

Ratchet smirked, then blinked. "Witnesses to what?"

Mordecai didn't speak, but looked about the pier, spotting several small-time fishers coming back with the morning haul. "I can't speak freely about it here."

Ratchet paused, worry in his face now. "What are you about to get me into here?"

"Keep moving, Poodle." Mordecai spoke now, his voice low. "We have work to do."

Ratchet picked up the pace again, walking with Mordecai up the gangplank of the ship, where a young Zillan boy waved to Mordecai as he came to the top of the gangplank. The same boy gave Ratchet a knowing nod, and once Ratchet's feet hit the deck of the ship, Mordecai reached for his neck and detached the leash. "Better now?"

"You still haven't told me what's wrong with this place." Ratchet spoke up again, still glaring at Mordecai some.

"You'll figure it out quick. Follow me down here." Mordecai remarked, opening up the hatch to the hold. Ratchet followed him down the steps, only glancing up once he hit the bottom of the steps.

There were several casks and cases of molasses in the hold, and several of the girls who Ratchet had been ogling the day before now had their fur caked to their bodies, dressed in burlap robes and loose, ragged clothing, their white lace cinchers still about their ankles, except now they had chains between their ankles, keeping them from running far at all.

"Disgusting . . ." Ratchet spoke up, stunned.

"I know." Mordecai shook his head. "I've watched over these girls for the past five years . . . It just breaks your heart, doesn't it?


	10. D19's Dilemma

Ratchet darted away from Mordecai, running around and trying as best he could to speed up the girls' tasks; despite their exhausted, dingy appearances, they were more than happy to see him about, and sure enough, they started working faster once Ratchet started making his adjustments and showing them how to move the casks right. The hold began to rumble with the rolling of casks in unison as the process streamlined itself, and Ratchet smirked, watching them go.

Okay, so he had at least some useful skills for this place — granted, it was just ordering others around, which hadn't even _occurred_ to him because of the implications of being a slave in the first place — but his ability to lead on the battlefield still translated well into being able to order other Lombaxes around, if nothing else. And thankfully Anastasia prized it enough that he was becoming more useful to her — with a little more effort, by tonight he'd have her support in training for the manumission exams, and then he'd be that much closer to getting out of-.

CRACK!

"Who dropped that?" Ratchet barked on instinct, running over to where one girl froze in front of a downed cask, a catatonic expression of fear on her face. Ratchet ran over, giving the girl the once-over before checking on the cask. "Calm down, you just cracked the barrel . . . nothing's spilled, at least not yet. You should be fine once this gets moving."

The girl still looked to be in fear, checking the barrel for herself. "Y-yes m'sieu, understood m'sieu!"

Ratchet blinked. "D19? Is that you?"

She mewled in shock, almost trembling now. "M . . . M'sieu . . . it was an accident . . ."

"It's all right . . . here, we'll let one of the others take this one. Mind if we talk for a moment?" Ratchet smiled at her, hoping to calm her down. After all, she was one of the few faces he recognized from before in the distillery, and if nothing else, she was pretty cute.

Her eyes went wide, like she was about to cry. "M'sieu, please . . . not here . . ."

"We need to get out of the way of the casks anyway." Ratchet replied, oblivious. "Here, there's some space over here that's out of the way."

He led her over towards a secluded alcove between two rows of the casks that had yet to be moved, where he leaned up against the barrels to smile at her. "Calm down, Dee, it's fine. I just wanted a moment with you."

"Yes, M'sieu." She spoke, sniffling for a few seconds. Soon enough, she adjusted her loose clothing to kneel at Ratchet's feet, looking up at him, trying to read his expression a little more, but then she reached out a hand for him, and Ratchet finally twigged it about the time her hand took a firm grip on the buttons of his britches.

"Hey, stop th . . . let go!" Ratchet stammered, trying frantically to pull the girl away. "What do you think you're doing?"

She blinked, looking up at him, still with that scared look in her eyes. "What's wrong, m'sieu?" She spoke, before a thoughtful look crossed her face, and she tried again. "Did you want me to lay down?"

"Y- . . . no! NO!" Ratchet hissed, gritting his teeth. "I just wanted to talk! God . . . what's wrong with you?"

She pouted, still confused. "I thought that's why you wanted me aside . . ."

"No!" Ratchet growled, holding his head, still trying to process the situation. Granted, he probably could've used a little sex right about now, and truth be told that D19 was the first girl to offer it to him . . . but now wasn't the time, it wasn't the place, and-.

Ratchet's eyes went narrow. She offered it, sure — all too readily. Like she expected him to just demand it of her. More to the point, like she wanted to get it over with.

His next question was much more pointed. "Dee, exactly what does Miss de Archanis have you girls do for her?"

Dee blinked, standing up. "Are you upset at me?"

"I'm trying to figure out who I'm upset at, but I'm damn sure it isn't you." Ratchet spoke, still with anger in his voice. "Just tell me what kind of work you do in the distillery."

"I bring the beer to the tables, I stir the hops, I help iron the dresses . . . "

"Does she ever have you give customers . .. 'a moment'?" Ratchet spoke again, hoping she picked up on the innuendo.

She blinked, almost offended now. "M'sieu, Miz Julia would never ask such things! She even has us wear special veils under our skirts to keep the stray eyes in line! She would never dream of having us service the guests in such . . . devious ways!"

Ratchet nodded, a small look of worry on his face now as his list of suspects narrowed. "Does Mordecai?"

D19 chuckled, then gave Ratchet a knowing smirk. "M'sieu, while we are more than glad to lavish our kindred brother with the affection he deserves, we have no need to be so generous. He is quite content with his work."

Now Ratchet just looked confused, lost. "Qwark?"

At this, his companion's eyes drooped and went to half-mast, as if the light went out. "Follow me."

She walked ahead of Ratchet, leading him back up the stairs. After scanning the deck, she ducked behind a staircase, and opened a glass-windowed door. "If the captain asks about this, I never brought you here. I can assure you whatever pain he deals you will be twice worse to me."

"Good God . . ." Ratchet mumbled as he walked inside the captain's quarters, looking around. The room was ornate, plush, and certainly seaworthy; the Captain had clearly invested heavily in his ship, from the looks of this place. There were chests and footlockers near much of the furniture, each one with a heavy lock upon it.

"This one is where he keeps the chains." D19 pointed to a green chest trimmed with brass. She pointed to a maroon footlocker on one side of the captain's desk. "That one keeps his rope and his other . . . 'accessories'. And this one," She spoke, now pointing at a small, navy blue box that was locked up tightly on his nightstand, "Is where he keeps the camera."

Ratchet's eyebrows nearly flew off his face. "I think I'm going to be sick!"

"Please do not vomit in the captain's room. He will notice the smell."

"Different kind of sick." Ratchet remarked. "I don't know what bothers me more, what you're implying that he does to you or the fact he photographs it. Is it just you, or does he do this to all the girls?"

"All the girls fear the captain with good reason." D19 remarked, even as Ratchet went over to try and pick the locks on the camera box. "We are not quite sure if M'sieu Mordecai has 'good reason' as well."

"Have you told him about this?" Ratchet spoke off-handedly as he analyzed the locks.

"We are . . . too scared to ask. We do not believe any good would come of telling him." D19 replied, with a sheepish tone to her voice. "There is no point. Too many like the captain. Miz Julia, much as she may love us, would doubtlessly take the word of her husband over ours."

Ratchet blinked. "Qwark and Julia are married?"

"Not yet; technically, we are Julia's girls, but since she is about to wed him, we will soon be his as well." The girl sighed. "They keep it secret because if the captain were to be captured, Julia might hang from the gallows with him otherwise . . ."

Ratchet nodded, stepping away from the camera box for now. "If nothing else, Julia deserves to know."

"But how?"

"I'll find a way." Ratchet responded, already trying to figure out a way to get Anastasia to fill in the details. "This has to end, one way or another."

"Bless You, M'sieu!" She spoke, hugging Ratchet from behind. "If you could get the captain to stop, we would love you forever!"

Ratchet smiled at her, then smirked. "As much as you do Mordecai?"

"Yes, M'-!" She spoke, then blinked. "The captain! I hear him!"

"Where?" Ratchet jerked to standing, then found himself being pushed by D19 towards the back.

"No time! Quickly, the docks!" She spoke, opening the window sash. "I'll let Mordecai know where you went!"

"Dee-AHH!" Ratchet managed out before he fell out the now-open window, splashing into the waters below. He bobbed right back up for breath, but then clinged to the hull of the ship, hearing the dull thud of Qwark's footsteps.

Ratchet only stayed behind long enough to hear the hard slap and screech that came from the captain's window, before Ratchet quickly decided to make for dry land.

After some paddling, Ratchet pulled himself up out of the water, climbing out next to an unloading boat. After a slightly-pointed glare, Ratchet trudged towards the distillery, sopping wet and figuring that if nothing else, he'd be able to find Mordecai or at least Kerry through Julia faster than any other route. Thankfully Qwark had never noticed Ratchet aboard the ship, so maybe he'd be lucky enough to get back to Anastasia tonight in one piece.

He sloughed in through the doors, and Julia lurched back in shock. "What happened to you?"

"I slipped." Ratchet shot back, in almost no mood. "Is Mordecai around?"

"He'll be back in a few hours. I'd be more concerned about finding your Mistress first. I at least need her permission if you expect not to be turned over to the police when they ask." Julia remarked, adding on, "Let me get you a towel . . ."

Ratchet nodded, shivering as he sat down at the bar. Getting out of here was still important, but in the meantime, he had to figure out a way to get Julia, Anastasia, or anybody besides Mordecai for that matter, to listen to him. He didn't have much proof, and what proof he'd be able to get was locked up in Qwark's ship — he'd have to work fast to get the proof before Qwark left for his next trip, or he wouldn't get another chance for months. This was going to be at least a two-person job, and so far he was one person too short.


	11. A Leap of Faith

Mordecai burst through the doors a few hours later, sending them back with a bang as he stomped over to a drying Ratchet at the bar. "What the hell happened, Poodle?"

""What are you talking abou-?" Ratchet spoke, before Mordecai grabbed him by the tail, getting a yelp out of him.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about . . ." He snarled.

Julia blinked, picking up her skirts to sprint over to the two. "What's going on?"

Mordecai narrowed his eyes, before speaking in a more hushed tone. "Qwark says he caught Vox's pet here trying to take advantage of Del- . . . D19!"

"What the- . . NO! Absolutely not!" Ratchet shot back.

"Poodle, this is not the time to be covering your ass." The black Lombax snarled. "The captain said he just found her all rigged up near one of the masts and bruised all over . . . He thought I'd done it, but then I told him that Anastasia lent us one of her drivers . . ."

"And he's the spare driver?" Julia blinked. "Nobody told me he was working on it . . ."

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "I picked him up since she said she wanted him to work on the Captain's ship anyway. I thought he was trustworthy!"

"Emphasis on 'thought', apparently."

"I didn't touch the damn girl!" Ratchet barked again, arms crossed. "Did you even ask Dee?"

"She couldn't even speak when I'd last seen her." His eyes went narrow. "She's bathing now."

"You realize you're rinsing off all the evidence of what actually happened to her, right?"

Julia blinked as she parsed that last line, before glaring at Ratchet. "You are SICK! If I didn't have a shop to run, I'd march you out back right now and-."

Ratchet glared at her. "And what?"

Julia shook in anger, then stormed into the back. Mordecai stayed out there, though. "You are in a lot of trouble, boy. You're lucky I'm not getting dragged down with you!"

"Mordecai, please, I didn't do anything to her! She's the first girl that even gave me the time of day!"

"Mord!" Julia snapped. "A moment!"

Ratchet groaned. "There's that word again . . ."

"Just stay there." He snarled at Ratchet, before walking over to the cellar's doorway, dropping his voice. "What now?"

Mordecai blinked as he found a length of rope being thrust into his hands, along with a pistol. Julia glared down at Mordecai, even as her eyes darted to Ratchet every few minutes. She spoke again, this time in her coldest tone possible. "Take him out back and deal with him, one way or another."

"Are you mad? K12's one of the brightest I've seen out here. Geld him, maybe, but-!"

"This isn't up for discussion." She glared down at her charge. "Nobody touches my girls and gets away with it. I let you earn your keep here by protecting my ladies, and this is part of your job. Now don't come back until you can show me your work!"

Mordecai frowned, but then looked back at Ratchet, sighing. "If only it were Shabbas . . ."

"Just . . . just finish it, please. I don't even want to look at him anymore."

Without further discussion, Mordecai loaded up his new tools into a sack, walking back over to Ratchet. "Hey, Poodle. Walk with me, will you?"

Ratchet blinked, jumping back down. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, I just want to talk." Mordecai spoke, before wincing. "I just don't want to do it here. I don't think you're welcome right now, you know?"

"Okay . . ." He spoke, a little nervous as he saw Julia still eyeing him. "Look, I didn't do it, I swear."

"Don't start here. Just walk with me a little." The black Lombax shrugged. "There's a nice garden in the back."

Ratchet nodded, following Mordecai up the stairs and out to a patio garden, suspended above the docks. Among the rosebushes and sod he noticed some cranes at the corner posts that looked like scaffolding, complete with pulleys, but he ignored them for now. Ratchet relaxed significantly, noticing the city view as it came up against the harbor. " . . . Huh. You were right, this is pretty nice."

"Glad you like it." Mordecai spoke, trying to sound cheerful. "If you look out in that direction, you can see the synagogue I work at. It's the tall domed building over there."

Ratchet turned to see the large blue dome, almost squinting to get a better view, but soon found rope being pulled over his head, and tightening around his neck. He grabbed at it with his hands, but quickly found a boot in his shoulders, knocking him forward.

Ratchet tried to flip himself in panic, only to find Mordecai on top, straddling his back and trying to pin down his arms. "What the hell? Get off me!"

"Hold still, damn it!" Mordecai snarled, tightening the noose around Ratchet's neck further. "I don't want to botch this!"

"God damn it, I'm innocent! You've got to-!"

Ratchet blinked, hearing the distinct readying of a pistol as he noticed the barrel being jammed flush against the opening of one of his ear canals. Mordecai spoke again, this time with something blocking his throat. " . . . just hold still. Please."

Ratchet winced. " . . . what are you doing, man?"

"This wasn't my decision." Mordecai spoke again, wrestling Ratchet's hands behind him to secure them with rope. "Now just let me do this . . . I'm in as much of a tight spot right now as you are, and if I don't string you up, Qwark'll think I had something to do with this too!"

"I didn't touch her!"

"You expect me to believe you right now?" Mordecai spoke as he pitched the coils of rope over one scaffold, and then leapt up off of Ratchet to tie them into place. Ratchet got up to his knees before standing, still trying to pull himself free. "I'm following Julia's orders here, that's all there is to it!"

"Don't do this to me! You don't know what you're doing!" Ratchet cried out again, even as he felt the rope tugging against his neck. "I didn't touch Dee!"

"You're the only one who could've done it!" Mordecai snarled, grabbing the post of the scaffold and starting to rotate it. Ratchet felt himself being pulled out towards the railing, and trying to fight against the pull of the scaffold. "Stop lying to me!"

"I didn't do it!" Ratchet panicked, digging his feet into the sod, trying to stay as far away from the railing as possible.

A moment later, Mordecai stopped. Ratchet almost dropped his ears in relief, but perked them back up when he noticed Mordecai grabbing the gun. "God damn it, Poodle . . . K12, whatever your name is . . ."

"Ratchet!"

Mordecai spun around to aim the pistol at Ratchet's head, but then blinked, shocked. " . . . what?"

"My name is Ratchet!" He spoke, trying not to shrink back from the pistol any longer. He was about to get himself killed _again_, so there was no point pulling any punches this time; he couldn't bluff his way out of this one any other way he could think of. "I am Ratchet Eliyahu Wrench. I was born, raised, and lived my entire life up until a few years ago on Veldin. Something or someone has brought me back here to your time, and . . . and I've never been so damn scared in my life. Please, you have to believe me!"

The free Lombax narrowed his eyes. "So you're not just a rapist, you've lost your mind too?"

"The only proof I have is what little knowledge of history I possess ." Ratchet gulped, sweating sheets, before he blinked. "Listen very carefully to what I say next, because I can't let anyone else hear this, Rabbi."

He was answered with rolled eyes, still as narrow as ever. "Flattery won't help you here. I'm not even a cantor."

"Yet." Ratchet spoke, dropping to his knees as though he thought it would help his case. "Please hear me out. I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out . . . but I know you. You're Rabbi Mordecai Chanis, leader of the Birthright and first Protectorate of Veldin. Your grave is located in Third Jerusalem under a black marble slab known as the Cracked Table. It picked up the crack about two hundred years after your death, when all of your descendants alive back then stood on it at the same time and their weight managed to open up what was previously a hairline fracture in the stone at the time of your burial."

Mordecai's eyes flew wide, his hand shaking now. "You . . . you're a prophet?"

"I'm not a prophet. Just a very scared time traveler who's at the end of his rope." Ratchet spoke, still staring down the barrel of the pistol. "I have listened to tales of how you helped to free all Lombaxes of their yokes, and to help find the planet promised to us all along; the planet I was born on, the planet you founded as a safe harbor for Lombaxes all across the galaxy . . . that's all I can tell you without going into idle speculation about what the scholars imagined of your sex life. Please, if you don't believe me, shoot me now. If I can't convince you, then there's no chance that anyone else here will listen to me."

Ratchet trembled for a moment, even as he saw Mordecai tense and slip a finger in towards the trigger. "I don't know what to believe right now. You're either telling the truth, or you're one hell of a liar."

"Please, Rabbi . . ."

Mordecai snarled. "If you are who you say you are, then you know what you should be saying right now." With that, he raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. "Last words?"

Ratchet quaked, his heart skipping two beats as he struggled to speak now. "Sh . . . _Sh'ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu . . . Adonai Echad . . ._"

_BLAM!_

Mordecai flinched, aiming the gun high to cut the rope that secured Ratchet to the scaffold, eyes wide once again in shock. A moment later, he dropped to his knees as well, wrapping his arms around Ratchet tightly, burrowing his head up against Ratchet's shoulder, sobbing quietly. A few moments later, Ratchet found himself supporting his head on Mordecai's shoulder as well, unable to speak.

"Thank God you believed me . . ." Ratchet finally managed out, heart in his throat.

"God had nothing to do with my believing you." Mordecai answered back, on the verge of tears. "But you're the greatest proof of his work I've seen yet."


	12. For His Own Good

The two of them sat there for a minute, confused as to what needed to happen next. Mordecai knew Julia was still expecting to see a body, at minimum.

"How long have you been here, Eliyahu?" Mordecai spoke at last, trying to figure out what happened.

"Only a few days." Ratchet spoke, suddenly aware of his bonds and the fact he still had a noose around his neck. "I don't know how it happened . . . I should be dead by now, on several accounts . . ."

"But you're not. That's what matters." He winced, standing up and looking down at Ratchet. "So were you telling the truth about D19, then? Or are you going to tell me that's how you treat women in your own time, too?"

Ratchet gulped hard. "Mordecai, I promise you, I didn't touch a hair on Dee's head."

"Well someone did!" He spat in frustration. "If not you, then did you at least see who it was?"

"No, but she told me."

Mordecai nodded a little, more satisfied with this train of thought. "Who was it, then? Just tell me and I swear I'll-!"

"Mordecai!" Julia hissed, the door swinging wide open and clattering against the stone. "What the hell is going on out here? I heard the gun go off, but you-!"

"I missed." Mordecai groaned, fur slicked back. "I decided it was a sign from God."

"You did n-!" Ratchet spoke, only to get slapped silent.

"I _said_ I missed." He glared at Ratchet in a 'don't ask questions' tone, before turning back to Julia. "He's still swearing that he's innocent."

"Well he can swear all he likes. It doesn't make a difference." Julia frowned with crossed arms, causing Ratchet to notice her apron — she had stars and swirls of color on it, but something about it seemed familiar. He blinked for a few moments, confused.

"Starmap . . ." He managed out, catching both of his captors off guard.

Julia blinked, before putting her arms in the way. "Stop staring at me!"

"Not the time . . . _very_ not the time!" Mordecai hissed in a low whisper, yanking on what was left of the noose now.

Julia's eyes went narrow, before putting up a small device in her hands. "She'll be here momentarily regardless. I'll let her decide what to do with you when she shows up."

"Who?" Ratchet blinked.

"Your Mistress, I'd imagine . . ." Mordecai remarked, trying to jog Ratchet's memory. "Come on, get up. We may as well have you outside for easy pick-up whenever she arriv-!"

"Julia!"

Ratchet froze. "Oh shit!"

"Watch your mouth, boy!" Mordecai snapped on instinct. "Even I don't talk like that . . ."

Anastasia's eyes were wide, even as she found herself crawling through the doorframes. Her eyes were wide, but she reached out as soon as she saw Ratchet. "K12! I'm so glad to see you!"

Julia narrowed her eyes. "You won't be when I tell you why I ordered him dead."

_Later that night, at Vox Manor . . ._

"You are in a whole mess of trouble, boy . . ." Antonio spoke, looking at the still-bound slave. Ratchet was standing now in a small room that appeared to be an office, with Kerry's lower arms holding him to the spot. His hands were still tied behind his back, and had been ever since Mordecai tied them there.

"Was she at least any good?" Kerouac asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ratchet glared up at Kerry. "I wouldn't know. I didn't even TRY anything!"

"Sure ya didn't . . ."

"If I had actual ears, I'd be ripping them out right now!" Anastasia growled as she came into the room, causing the two workhands to stiffen their stance. "I try to do my friends a favor, and this is the thanks I get? My prize servant nearly being lynched without anyone even consulting me, Captain Qwark accusing me of raising a sex-crazed beast . . . And that says nothing about what this incident will do to my reputation once word of this spreads!"

"Did anyone even ASK Dee what happened?" Ratchet growled.

"D19 can't speak right now, and she STILL can't, thanks to you no doubt!" Anastasia hissed. "Her throat's so messed up right now she can't even talk, and the way Julia's freaking out, she's afraid that poor slave might never be able to speak again!"

Ratchet blinked, halted in his thoughts. "He messed her up that badly . . .?"

Anastasia looked across the table, piqued. "Who?"

"Qwark!" Ratchet spoke, hoping that maybe he could go two for two on telling the truth and getting people to believe him. "He's the one that beat her mute — he's been abusing all of those girls!"

She barked at him immediately. "Kay, don't start with this, you're in enough hot water as is."

Ratchet was beyond caring at this point. "She told me herself that Qwark had been taking those girls! He's got his ship all set up to chain them down, beat them, torture them, and he even films it!"

"ENOUGH!"

Ratchet stopped, snapping his jaw shut. Anastasia had a rare look of pain on her face; something had finally gone off in her.

Antonio caught on immediately, clearing his throat. "Mistress Vox, I think we're beyond questioning what happened at this point. Your orders?"

She winced, her eyes transformed into tight slits of sight. "Fifteen, at minimum." 

Ratchet gulped hard. " . . . what?"

"Don't try to talk me out of this. Julia's a close friend of mine, and regardless of whatever else I do, I have to show her that I'm still capable of disciplining my servants." She spoke, even as she hid her face behind her hands.

"But it was only five last time!" He protested, trying to squirm out of Kerry's grip.

"Yes, and I'm tripling it: Once for spreading that kind of slanderous talk about Captain Qwark, Twice for doing so without any evidence on your behalf — and I'm sorry, K12, but I can't take your word over the captain's, no matter how much I like you — and thrice for getting yourself into such deep trouble you nearly got yourself killed. If nothing else, you're having the tar beaten out of you so that next time maybe you'll depend on your own good graces rather than Mordecai's to save your skin!"

Ratchet struggled further, but quickly received a hiss from the hairs of the workhand behind him. Eventually he stopped, staring out at his mistress as he dropped his shoulders. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I actually CARE about you, damn it!" She snarled, the golden coinage dangling from her bangs shaking as she spoke. "You have no idea what sort of risk I'm taking to even treat you half as well as you're receiving, and with my father watching over my shoulders to make sure I'm not harboring some prophet, and Julia thinking you're some sort of rapist — and I'm not even questioning if you _are_ or not, the point is she still thinks you are — I have to do SOMETHING because if I do absolutely nothing, one of them if not both will take over your discipline for me!" She glared at him.

Ratchet squirmed further, mewling softly. He'd never actually seen Anastasia angry like this before.

She shook her head, almost enraged that Ratchet wasn't being more responsive or grateful. "And this is being _generous_ in light of that! She wanted to kill you! JULIA, of all people, the only person on this island who cares about her slaves enough that she's even housing a freeman, wanted you lynched at the mere thought that you violated one of her girls! Mordecai trusted her judgment enough that he nearly did it for her! Any lesser Master would be reaching for a knife to geld you right now, and if it were up to my father, he'd probably make me hold your legs open while he bit your pride off himself!"

"Yes Ana, I'm sorry. . ."

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes _what_?"

"Ana . . ." Ratchet spoke, almost having his neck wrenched back as Kerry sent a less-than-subtle hint up his spine that he was making a big mistake.

Anastasia nearly quaked, unable to speak. She glanced back only for a moment — long enough to see that Gabriel was peering in through a crack in the door — before she turned back to face Ratchet, but she kept her eyes on Kerouac. "Please take this . . . upstart out of here, and set him up. I'll be out there shortly with the whip. Make sure he's dialed back up."

Kerry nodded. "Back to red?"

"ALL the way up." She spoke, before tacking on, "Make it black."

The Kendril's eyes went wide, and even his snake-heads sprung up in shock. "You're serious about this?"

"I can't afford to let him be implicated again like this." She spoke, almost with a twinge of regret. "I have to take precautions. It's for his own good."

Ratchet blinked, quickly "But I didn't-!"

"Speaking is NOT advised for you right now, K12." She hissed, hiding her eyes from him. "Take him away."

Ratchet whimpered, looking for some sign of pity or forgiveness from her, but saw nothing as he was dragged out of the room.


	13. An Ending that Doesn't Exist

"Nine . . . AH! Ten . . ."

Kerry glanced down at the bound Lombax. "Keep talking at that clip, boy; if she gets an extra lash in before you count the last one, then they both get redone."

Ratchet mewled, jerking on instinct as he felt another strike dive against him. "Eleven . . ."

"You holding up, Mistress?" Tony smirked, checking on the young matriarch. "Your eyes look terrible right now . . ."

"They'll be fine in a minute." She spoke, wiping away a brief tear, even as she brought the whip down again.

This blow was enough to shake the chains. "ANGH! . . . Twelve . . ."

"Hang on!" Kerry spoke up. "Let me check him. That one looks like it went in deep."

Anastasia frowned. "Check him AFTER I'm done. I want to get this over with."

"The rules state he has to be able to stand. He's hanging by his wrists after that last one." Kerry spoke up, sitting down next to the slave. "Come on, just a few more."

"Then prop him back up, damn it!" She snapped again.

Kerry gingerly slapped at Ratchet's cheeks, trying to wake him. "Don't pass out on us now. We're almost done, honest."

Ratchet mewled, not wanting to move. "Tired . . . soaked . . ."

"Yeah, I know; it's the blood loss." Kerry spoke, strangely knowledgeable for a change. "Just hang in there; let her finish. If you pass out, she'll just have to redo all fifteen in the morning, and neither of you want that. Just plant your feet back down . . . there, that's a good boy . . ."

Ratchet howled out this time as the next lash came in quickly, barely maintaining his regained base. He was still pissed off at himself for being so weak here — but if nothing else, he barely even felt the initial three this time. "Th-. . . Th'teen . . ."

Kerry slapped Ratchet's cheek again. "Clearly."

"Thirteen!" He hissed, in pain so vivid his vision was spinning. The next one came down, just as hard as the rest, and reopening a few of the initial lashes as well. "Fourteen . . ."

"Good boy, good boy. One more, just hang in there . . ."

"I'm not a-! AIY!" He cried out once more, losing his stance again, falling forward as though letting gravity crucify him on the way down. "Fifteen . . ."

"Finally." Anastasia took a step back, dropping the whip.

"Nice one." Kerry smirked. "You're just a little soldier when it comes to this, ain't you?"

Ratchet winced, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Didn't sound like one."

"You have no idea how rare it is to make it through fifteen on the first try." Kerry chuckled, helping to prop Ratchet back up. "You're doing fine, K12. Go on, smile."

Ratchet grabbed onto the chains to pull himself back up, trying to smile . . . but then slumped forward, silent.

"Great. He picks _now _to pass out." Kerry groaned, reaching out for the locks.

Tony chuckled. "So what?"

"It's done, that's all I care about." Anastasia shook her head. "Clean him, bathe him, dress him, and then when you two finish with that, bring him up. Hopefully he'll be awake by then."

"Will do, Mistress." Tony nodded, before holding up a claw. "Just occurred to me, though . . . if he's getting into trouble with someone else's stock, we may want to consider extra measures."

She shook her head. "I don't want to geld this one. He'll fetch well in stud fees if nothing else."

"Well, sure, but . . . I was thinking more along the lines of finding him an outlet in the meantime. I don't care if you find him a belt or give him some access to a broodmare at night, but you need some way to control his behavior."

Anastasia winced for a moment, then sighed. "Crazy as it sounds . . . I don't think that's his problem."

Tony blinked. "What, you actually believe him about Qwark?"

"I don't know. I like Qwark, so I'm not likely to believe that he'd do something like that, but . . . K12's usually pretty honest. Maybe even a little too much." She shook her head, picking the whip back up to hand it to Antonio. "So if nothing else, he at least thinks he's telling the truth; if not about Qwark, then about his own involvement."

"I'll let you find out the hard way if you're right." The Kendril shook his head, then walked off to help Kerry with Ratchet. Anastasia slumped, watching them carry her pet off, still feeling guilty about the mess.

"And here I didn't think you had it in you!"

She gritted her teeth quickly. "I didn't have much choice in the matter, Father."

Gabriel chuckled, wrapping an arm around his daughter. "And yet you still made the right one. You held your ground, you administered punishment, and you made it clear that he'd earned it. Nice touch with upping him to black, by the way. Really ought to put the fear into him."

"I suppose." She winced, holding the arm she'd been using to whip him. "I have a question."

"Anything, my little princess."

"Do you think K12 needs conditioning?"

Gabriel blinked, giving her a quizzical look. "He's still behaving too well for that sort of measure. It's not his obedience you need to be questioning right now; he's very eager to please you. I'm almost shocked at his level of effort so far. If anything, his main problem is that he's trying too hard to do anything merely the way we tell him to."

"But he's getting into trouble . . . and even you have to admit this is serious." She spoke, trying to make her point further.

"An accusation of rape is serious as far as he's concerned, yes, but harmless as far as your health and the House of Vox are concerned." Gabriel spoke, beginning to walk. Anastasia took the hint and kept pace with him. "I understand you are worried so much about his behavious, but honestly? This falls under property damage. The fact that Julia treats it as more is merely a sign of her own weakness; you gave him the right amount, considering that it was a mere accusation against him. Now, if you'd _caught_ him, that would be another story . . ."

She winced. "But rape should always be taken seriously.

"If I kept track of every time one of the factory males decided to go stuff the mares, I'd lose half my stock." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Rape is just sex with pain, and both sex and pain are commodities when you're talking about slaves. That they inflict pain on each other rather than my doing it for them is just a happy side effect. And what the hell are you giving me the evil eye, for?"

She winced, suddenly very aware of herself. "I just never thought I'd hear you talk like that . . ."

"Come off it. We're not talking about you in the least — keep your head where it needs to be, 'Mistress'. If you keep thinking like you're one of them, you might turn into one."

Anastasia was silent then, making her way back towards the house.

_Later . . ._

Anastasia waited quietly, pretending to be asleep as Antonio plopped Ratchet back inside the crawlspace, before the Kendril walked back out and locked the door behind him. She smirked, only turning her head to look back once she heard the telltale 'click'.

A hand reached out for the end of the bed, peering down to see her pet's space. She shuffled down, flipping the door open with a practiced ease, even as she peered inside.

"Kay . . . Come on, Kay." She cooed, trying to bring him out.

"Let me sleep."

"That's no way to talk to your Mistress, Kay . . ." She spoke again, reaching in to try and grab him. "Come out and play?"

"Just today I have been thrown off a ship, accused of assaulting a woman, nearly lynched, held at gunpoint, and then I came home and was literally whipped until I passed out." Ratchet snarled, trying to burrow in the laundry basket. "Save for the three minutes I actually had Mordecai trust me, today has been by far the worst experience I've had in a long time."

Ana frowned, raising an eyebrow. "And here you'd been so compliant . . ."

"I'm sorry, Ana-"

"Mistress!" She hissed, reaching in again, grabbing the basket, and fishing for her slave with the other hand. "You do _not_ refer to me by name, and certainly not in public! It's rude and it means that when you cause trouble, it's more obvious whose fault it is for not beating sense into you."

Ratchet frowned, even as Anastasia had him by the neck. "How is it my fault for being the scapegoat?"

"Because . . ." She hissed, trying to will herself to be rougher with her pet, but soon found herself letting go of him. "Because you're supposed to know better. You're a house slave now; for Goddess's sake, act like one!"

Ratchet narrowed his eyes, arms crossed, refusing to say anything now.

Anastasia broke the silence again for him. "You're wearing too much. Strip off."

"I'd rather stay dressed tonight. Keeps the bandages-. Holy . . ." Ratchet blinked, staring up as he saw his Mistress standing, and he was able to see the Vox tattoo on her left thigh. If she was wearing anything at all, it wasn't showing in that light, and there was enough of the moon shining in to make her silhouette obvious.

"Silly pet." She spoke, smirking. "The slave should never be wearing more than his Mistress."

"I . . . I'm . . . You are _huge_." He managed out. She didn't look like much of anything in terms of being arousing — in fact, she looked completely flat aside from what was obvious musculature — but he couldn't ignore the sleek build and imposing stature. She had a true predator's body, and one worth admiring for sheer elegance if nothing else. The mere audacity and inherent pride in her display made her more than alluring enough to catch him off-guard.

She smirked; that certainly got his attention. "Strip."

"Yes, Mistress." Ratchet chirped back, before he half-realized what had slipped out of his tongue. He grabbed his throat a moment later, suddenly aware of his voice.

Anastasia smiled down, climbing back into her bed, a look of satisfaction on her face as she slipped her robe back on — loosely — before adjusting her position and patting a place on the bed next to her shoulders. "You sleep up here tonight."

Ratchet looked back, even as he pulled his jacket back down again in compliance of his previous orders. Everything about this world was confusing him — he should have been happy to find an ally in Mordecai, let alone one he knew would pull through for him out of sheer history if nothing else. But between turning into the town's whipping boy and Anastasia's own mercurial behavior, he'd almost forgotten himself. He was Ratchet, he was a hero four times over, he was-!

No.

That was just it; he _was_ Ratchet. He _was_ a hero. He _was_ Veldin's pride, Veldin's honor, Veldin's son. He was all of those things, yes; but that was what he u_sed_ to be. Back in his own time, he was Master of the art of war; here, he wasn't even Master of his own fate. Back there, it took an act of congress to keep Ratchet from slipping into his armor first thing in the morning; here, the only time he seemed to be wearing much of anything was when he was expected to keep up appearances. Back home, he was wanted so much by everyone that Gleeman had gone so far as to capture him for all of Solana to see . . .

And here? He considered himself lucky that Gleeman's great (times a few generations) grandmother still wanted him enough that she was willing to offer him a spot in her bed, and not even a sexual one at that. Hell, he was even questioning whether he would mind if she _did_ offer the chance at this rate . . .

He knew in the back of his head it should've taken more effort than this to cause this sort of response. But he knew that he'd been reeling hard from the past three days, the total shock to his system taking him for a ride. He'd been hoisted, stripped, scalded, whipped, stripped again, choked, hit, hit _on_, humiliated, held at gunpoint, whipped even harder, and knocked unconscious from sheer pain. Whatever benefits this place had, he was having a hard time seeing them as more than momentary victories, faint ebbs in the tide of war.

If the sound of his clothing hitting the floor wasn't enough proof, the mere fact he'd answered Anastasia — no, his _Mistress _— so readily and so 'properly' when she managed to catch him off guard was proof enough; this wasn't mere enslavement and servitude. This was a constant war, one his people had been losing for two millennia, with every man, woman, and child an eventual casualty and prisoner. Therein lied the mistake. He had forgotten the ways of war, only to discover that _this_ was war itself.

The only advantage he had left was the one within him; the knowledge that the dawn of freedom would soon be upon this planet and the rest of the Solana galaxy. It wasn't here yet, though; he knew 'enough' to know it had to be near, if Mordecai was indeed the Rabbi of his planet's past. That much, he remembered. _'And Mordecai led them, as Moses before him, parting the sea of stars.'_

Except . . Mordecai had said it himself just that day that he wasn't a rabbi yet. He wasn't even a cantor. And Ratchet had only ever heard of him as a rabbi.

Ratchet didn't know all the steps to becoming either, but he knew enough to know that it took years to attain such a rank. Meaning it could be several more years before he could count on the galactic militaries to descend upon the planet. Hundreds and hundreds of days to wait, even if he bided his time studying for the exams. Hundreds more times to exist in pain, to count his lashings, to try in futile effort to return to a future that was quickly fading into his past; and he-.

Ratchet froze in mid-crouch as he loosened his pants, his mind not even processing his own display to his Mistress's eyes. He'd told Mordecai the future. He'd given Mordecai information that he couldn't have gained through any other means. He'd just tampered with the one hope he had of making it off this rock!

Up until that point, he could have dismissed his efforts as a blip on the radar; one slave in one city on one planet wouldn't be noticed, his annals left in history as 'just another face'. Now? He'd gone and thrown his wrench into the one gear that needed to do its job. Mordecai was supposed to be the savior of this world, and by confessing in order to save his own life, he had just mutated the course of history. At best, Mordecai would take it as proof of his own righteousness and make it a self-fulfilling prophecy, and at worst? He might take Ratchet's words as Gospel, and in the process get himself hanged after recklessly thinking he could do no wrong. That confession could have wrecked any chance of returning to any sense of freedom, let alone to his own time!

Ratchet stood up, devoid of any apparel left on him save his bracelets and his bandages. He didn't move to cover himself; there was no point. He didn't hold his head high enough to make eye contact with his Mistress; there was no pride. He didn't even hold his tail off the ground; he wasn't even sure he still had any hope.

He wasn't Ratchet. Not now. Not anymore. He had thought he was Ratchet, sure. But with the uncertainty that he no longer knew what the future held? Gone. 'Ratchet' might not even exist in the future he'd just caused. All he was now . . . was K12, servant of Anastasia Vox.

This was war, all right. A war he'd just _lost_.

"Thank you, Mistress."


End file.
